The Dark Curtain
by Laurie M
Summary: Babylon Noir Fic. Havana, 1948. John and Della still find plenty of time for romance in between exchanging one-liners, drinking cocktails and investigating murder...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** J M Straczynski, Babylonian Productions ™ and Warner Productions ™ own the rights to all of the characters contained in this story.

**Author's Note:** This is the follow-up to _The Deep Sleep_ and is shaping up to be ... lengthy. I aim to post updates once a week.

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**Babylon 5**

**The Dark Curtain**

**By Laurie**

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_**A note from the Editor:** _

_As our readers of the more recent volumes of _The History of the Inter-Stellar Alliance_ will be aware, the incident in 2260 on board the station Babylon 5, which has already been published in Volume Three under the title _The Deep Sleep_, has led our researchers down various avenues. The discovery of personal papers, journals and official documents has led to a certain amount of speculation that the persons of Della Nicole Ramir and John James Sheridan were in fact previous incarnations of the late Presidents John Sheridan and Delenn ra'Mir of the I.S.A._

_Such speculation is beyond the remit of the collators of fact for these chronicles; nonetheless, the Ramir-Sheridan papers do frequently reflect aspects of the lives and personalities of the personnel of both Babylon 5 and the Alliance. The public interest in these papers has resulted in the publication of this current volume: our most recent acquisitions from the Ramir-Sheridan archive were a series of journal entries written by both Mr and Mrs Sheridan at the time of their honeymoon. Individually, neither journal is complete (we hope to recover the missing pages at some point); yet, when taken together they provide the full story of what occurred during two weeks in Havana, Cuba. The story is best left to be told by the lady and gentleman in question._

**ooOoo**

**1**

**ooOoo**

_Havana, May 1948_

The band was playing a Cuban melody that evening as I walked across the hotel lobby. That came as no surprise as we were, in fact, actually in Cuba. Havana, to be precise. It was an upscale place – one of those set-ups with lots of potted plants and ceiling fans moving the balmy air around. Cloud had moved in earlier in the evening, thunder rolling around the foothills and the air was heavy, sultry. It made everything move at a slower pace, which takes some getting used to after New York. I paused long enough to put out a cigarette in the marble sand jar and continued across the lobby, scanning the area as I went. I wasn't trying to pretend not to look and one of the bellhops who was a little more on the ball than his colleagues popped up in front of me and grinned broadly.

'Can I help you, sir?'

Ruben was a nice kid, probably not even twenty-three, and good-looking. And didn't he know it. And he made sure that all the bored married women (and the bored unmarried ones, at that) knew it too. But I couldn't blame him for trying to make the best for himself pretty much the only way he could.

'Nah, I'm just looking for a stray brunette,' I said.

His grin broadened. 'Isn't everyone?'

I grinned back and gave him a tip because I could afford it and because I thought I might as well.

'You might try the bar,' he said helpfully, pocketing the scratch along with all the other tips he'd been given.

'My thoughts exactly.'

The bar was as nicely packed as you could expect a place like that to be at that time in the evening; and as I eased my way through it soon became apparent that Havana had more than its fair share of stray brunettes. I was practically falling over them. Younger and older, curvy and not-so-curvy... Well, you get my drift. From about twenty feet away most of them looked like class acts; from about ten feet away they looked like they'd look much better being seen from twenty feet away. Some of them had that predatory look, others looked like they'd come to the conclusion that if they threw themselves at something enough times they were bound to stick eventually; they watched me with hardened eyes and I don't flatter myself that it was because there was anything special that marked me out – I just happened to be the sole representative of the male of the species who could get one foot in front of the other without help passing by at that particular moment. Most of them hadn't quite come to terms with the fact that just because they were female didn't mean that they were irresistible – and their resentment at my indifference was obvious.

There are, of course, exceptions to that rule. Every now and then you meet a woman who can make any man trail after her whether he wants to or not – and whether she tries to make him or not. Actually, the not trying is probably part of her charm. And in a room like that it's pretty easy to find where that kind of woman is – just look for the biggest knot of tuxedoed shoulders in the place and she'll be in the middle of them.

I took a good look around and, sure enough, there they were – a solid wall of black. Broad-shoulders and some shoulders too skinny to be worthy of the name all clustered together. I strolled over and prised some of them apart; they didn't look too happy about having some new guy muscling in on the act but I didn't give them much choice in the matter. Most of them were shorter than me, anyhow, which helps in these situations, I find. The source of all this fascination was sitting at the table, leaning forward enough so that some fortunate soul could light her cigarette for her. He looked like he'd reached the pinnacle of his existence in that one moment. If I'd been more charitably inclined I would have told him to enjoy it while it lasted, it would all be downhill from then on. But I wasn't, so I didn't. Instead, I put my eyes on the brunette. She blew out a stream of smoke, silver-grey rising in the air, and watched me through it. Her eyes were also grey: just enough humour to make them warm and more than enough depth to make you feel like you were falling straight into them. I put my hands on the table and leant towards her.

'Well, this is a fine way to behave,' I said, 'and on your first day out of bed, too. You know what the doctor told you – one more week in quarantine, at least.'

Those grey eyes of hers flashed and she tossed her head back. 'I won't go back to quarantine, I tell you! I don't care who catches it!'

The host of black shoulders melted away. I slid into the booth next to her and eyed her severely.

'Say, just how long has this sort of thing been going on?'

'Oh...' She tilted her head. 'Only since we've been married.'

I laughed. 'Three whole weeks, huh?'

Della propped her cheek on her hand. 'Enjoying yourself?'

'Hugely.' I looked at her and the way her lips twitched as she looked at me. And I thought it was a pity that we were in public. 'What are you drinking, plaything?'

'Martini, please.'

I looked around and Ruben materialised at my elbow, moonlighting as a waiter whether he was supposed to be or not.

'Oh, hey Ruben. Can I get two Martinis?'

'And I'll have the same,' Della said.

Ruben sniggered. I raised my eyebrows. 'You heard the lady.'

He grinned again and steered himself towards the bar; in the three days we'd been there we'd become Ruben's favourite customers, mainly because we kept him entertained and tipped big – not necessarily in that order. I turned back to Della; she had moved a little closer, leaning against me enough that I got caught in her cloud of perfume.

'Hello,' she said softly.

'Hello.' It was definitely a pity we were in public. 'Nice evening so far?'

'Lovely,' she said, 'all that hot air floating around.'

I didn't bite at that; I just grinned at her instead and tried to ignore the fact that her foot had introduced itself to mine and was set on making friends.

'How did you know where I was?'

'Well, I knew that a crowd like that could only be attracted by a woman who has at least one thing that none of the others around here have.'

'Which is?'

'A lot of money.'

Her toes pressed hard against my ankle and she wrinkled her nose at me.

'And what are the other things?'

'What things?'

'You said at least one – what are the others?'

I studied the lovely lines of her neck and the one dark curl that had escaped its pin and was clinging to her skin. She looked at me along her eyes, grey glinting beneath her lashes.

'If we were somewhere less respectable I might just tell you,' I said, 'as it is I wouldn't want to scandalise the potted palms.'

'You say the sweetest things,' she said. She'd worked it so that she was resting in the curve of my arm and I have to admit that it had become one of my favourite positions for sitting in a hotel bar. Or any bar, come to that.

We'd stayed in New York long enough to see Della's sister get married off to Nero O'Neill – the hot-headed tycoon who was now my brother-in-law. He wasn't the one that I would have chosen for the position, but it wasn't really up to me who Maya chose to marry. And as I'd only known Maya for a little over a month it's understandable that she wouldn't really be asking for my opinion for things like that. But once we'd seen them safely off, Della and I had decided that we deserved a honeymoon of our own so we'd packed up and hoofed it across the water to Havana.

There's something to be said for delaying a honeymoon – for one thing you actually get to see more of your destination than just the inside of your hotel room. Not much more, but some.

Late in that afternoon I'd taken a walk through the old part of the city to give Della some time to do whatever it is that a woman does when there's no man around to get under her feet – and as both of us had got used to living alone for a long time, it only seemed polite to give her some of the privacy that she's accustomed to. By the time I got back I discovered that my bride had taken the opportunity to disappear, leaving a message suggesting I find her - if I could. I won't deny I'm a man who likes a challenge, which brings us to the Great Brunette Hunt of 1948 and the hotel bar.

My wife's foot was still having a conversation with mine and I enjoyed myself by just looking at her for a moment. She was wearing something silk that draped in places and clung in others and generally made her look like a naiad who had wandered away from her spring.

She looked beautiful and I told her so and her cheeks flushed a little the way they always did whenever I complimented her. You would have thought that someone who looks the way Della does would be used to compliments but she's never seemed to have quite got the hang of them.

Ruben saved her from any further embarrassment by working his way back over to us with a tray. And four Martinis. He was still smirking when he set them down on the table and he finished the production number by pulling something out of his jacket pocket with a flourish and saying, 'This was at the front desk for you, so I thought I would bring it over.'

'Thanks.' I injected a bit more enthusiasm than I actually felt and took it from him. Poor kid looked thrilled. He took himself off again and I stared at the telegram he had given me. I hated getting those things; everybody did.

I could feel that Della had stiffened beside me, her hand gripping the stem of her glass a little tighter. Too many people had received too much bad news from those things during the war; I ripped it open and almost laughed out loud with relief when I read it.

'What does it say?' Curiosity won out in her voice but there was still an undercurrent of tension.

' "Weather lousy. Having a terrible time. Wish you were here and I was there. Mike." '

Then Della laughed, relaxing again, her face softening. 'Poor Mike.'

I snorted. 'What do you mean, "Poor Mike"? He'll be having a blast. He can sleep in his chair, insult any clients fool enough to come wandering in and play poker with Susan at three in the afternoon.' That may sound like a condemnation but it isn't. Michael Garibaldi is as solid as they come and the first person you would want on your side in a tough spot.

'They both should have taken a vacation,' Della said. 'The firm is doing fairly well at the moment, isn't it? I know at least one of your clients paid their bill in full not long ago.'

'That client overpaid – we're still waiting for her to collect her one-thousand-six-hundred bucks. Minus expenses.' Della smiled serenely in response; the disputed money had been in contention for a month and I had a feeling that it was something that would never be resolved. 'And I don't think that two guys in an office with a busted radiator, leaky taps and no open cases on the books counts as a firm.'

'All right; what would you call it?'

'Sheer dumb luck.'

'Hm. Yes, I see that. You're no great shakes as a detective, but you _are_ lucky.' Della smiled again and held her olive between her teeth for a moment before biting down on it; she pulled the cocktail stick out slowly and dropped it into the ashtray. Her eyes didn't leave my face.

I cleared my throat. 'We better get you some food – you get cranky when you're not fed right.'

A slight frown appeared between her eyebrows. 'I don't get cranky.'

'Grouchy, then.'

'I don't get grouchy!'

I thought about it. 'Crotchety?'

'I don- Is that even a real word?'

'Uh-'

'I mean, when you think about it doesn't really make any sense.'

'You're right,' I said, 'we shouldn't think about it at all.'

Della had pursed her lips and her head was tilted – I had come to recognise this as the sign of her being deep in thought; it didn't always follow that what she was thinking about was particularly deep.

'Crotchety... It's a bit similar to crochet but I don't see a connection; although, I suppose that that sort of handiwork can make you rather irritable if you're not disposed towards it...'

'Della...' I sighed, hoping to head her off before she took it any further. One corner of her mouth curled up and her eyes widened, all faked innocence.

'Did you mention something about food?'

I blew out a breath. 'Back in the dim and distant past, yes. Come on.' I slid out of the booth and gave her my hand to help her up. She came to rest on my arm in a shimmer of silk and a little half-smile of the sort that gives a man ideas; I wondered if I could sell her on taking all of our meals in our room from then on. We navigated our way through the bar and I spotted a couple of Della's admirers dotted about the place. Some of them had been snared by the predators of the opposite sex, most were just sitting staring into their drinks and looking glum. I had the best-looking girl in the place on my arm and felt like king of the world as we sauntered through to the restaurant. We got put in what was fast becoming our regular table – a nice secluded number that let us see more of the rest of the room than they could of us.

I wasn't particularly interested in anyone in the rest of the room but I took a look around it anyway; it had become too ingrained a habit to break. All the years in the army had taught me to always look for where the exits are before anything else – and that's come in pretty handy ever since I set up shop with Mike. Most of the other tables were occupied and they were mainly couples of various ages. Only one stood out: it was right in the centre of the room, getting the full benefit of the chandelier, so maybe it was supposed to; but it was the attitudes of the three people arranged around it that I noticed more than anything else. A heavy-set man whose restless eyes seemed at odds with the fleshy folds of his jowls; both hands rested on the table and the forefinger of one was beating a regular rhythm. His two companions were much younger and they were a good-looking pair: the man was attentive, a little too attentive, maybe, like he was trying hard to please - his mouth didn't stop moving; the girl said nothing, just sat in her chair in her white lace dress and gardenias in her hair and stared at nothing in particular; she had a pretty face and a discontented expression.

I sat down next to Della and forgot about them immediately.

It was a nice dinner. I'm sure the food was great and if I could remember what it was I'd tell you; what I do remember is that Della wore grey and we talked for a long time. It wasn't anything earth-shattering, just the sort of general talk that you get when two people are getting to know one another. The fact is that Della and I had had what is known as a whirlwind romance. Whirlwind is an understatement, to be honest – it had been more like a hurricane. It's a strange sensation, feeling as though you know someone even when you don't know much about them but that is the way it was: I didn't have to know things about Della to know her.

Even so, it was nice just sitting there and talking about all the inconsequential things that don't really amount to much on their own but seem to mean something once you've told them to this other person. We swapped notes on what music we liked and what books we'd read. And then Della talked a little about her father, which isn't something that she does very often. I knew very little about Edward Ramir, except for some of the things that Della had told me and a photograph I'd seen. A slim-faced man with the same startlingly grey eyes as his daughter and a hesitant smile that looked like it was trying for happiness but couldn't quite make it. But I had a good idea of the sort of man he had been: principled, decent and a firm desire to educate his daughters. I've never been quite sure just how much Della actually enjoys the time she spends up in the plant rooms on the top floor of the brownstone that her father kept; but I think it's the one thing she can do where she can still feel close to him.

She tossed the hair away from her shoulder and finished the story she'd been telling me, '...so he told them that he wouldn't be joining any club that wouldn't allow his doctor to join on the strength of his religion. Needless to say, they never asked him again – and when I last checked that club was still restricted.'

'He's where you got your sense of social justice from, huh?'

She laughed a little. 'I suppose - from him and William Powell.'

I choked and put my eyebrows up at her. 'William Powell? You mean the movie star?'

Della laughed again, colour spreading faintly across her cheeks and down the curve of her throat. 'Yes. I went to see _My Man Godfrey_ when I was seventeen. Oh, I thought he was wonderful; I fell head over heels in love with him. And of course there really were all of those poor forgotten men right there in Central Park, living in shacks and cardboard boxes - just a few yards from the house. So, I lectured my father about it and cried... He was already doing something about it, of course: a building project. If there were no jobs, then create jobs; it was rather like the idea behind the Rockefeller Centre, only on a smaller scale; it's how we ended up with the Abernathy Building. But Papa let me think that it had all been my idea and that I'd talked him into it. And I never did get to meet William Powell, but Papa got me a signed photograph of him with a personal inscription. I kept it by my bed.'

I watched her for a moment, the way her eyes turned limpid and for a moment I could see her as the seventeen-year-old kid dreaming of marrying a film star. I put my hand over hers. 'I think I would have liked your father.'

She looked at me fully, her eyes still limpid but even softer than before. 'I know he would have liked you.'

She twisted her fingers through mine; they always manage to feel delicate and strong at the same time. I lifted her hand and kissed the back. We could have stayed like that for a couple of hours if a waiter hadn't decided to sidle over and ask if we wanted anything else; I wanted him to go away, hopefully somewhere far, but as we had to live in the place for the next few weeks I thought it best to keep that to myself. We declined and escaped through the french windows out into the gardens instead.

There's a lot to be said for a night-time stroll in a garden in the Caribbean. The storm hadn't broken and the air was still heavy, the tang of brine sharp behind the scent of gardenias and night-blooming jasmine. It was secluded out there: the lights and music from the hotel seemed a long way off. Old Man Moon had bedded down in the clouds but put in enough of an appearance every now and then to add that nice silver glow to things. Like Della's skin. She drifted along beside me, luminous, looking more like a visiting spirit than an actual person. I had to put my arm around her just to check that she was real. Okay, so maybe that's just the excuse I used...

She leant against me, and when we'd taken a few steps further into an alcove of scented shadow she turned and looked up at me.

'Darling.'

I kissed her. Her lips were warm and soft, like the perfume in her hair.

She tilted her head back and looked at me.

'Shall I tell you something? A confession?' There was a throb in her voice, deep in her throat. I tightened my hold on her.

'Go right ahead.'

We were close enough that when she laughed again – still in her throat – I could feel her breath against my lips.

'Today, while you were out, I actually missed you. I think that means that I must be getting used to having you around.'

'In that case I should go out more.'

'Why's that?'

It was a moment before I answered – I was kissing her again. 'I like you missing me, plaything; besides, reunions are so much fun.'

Her arms went around my neck. 'That is an excellent point.'

We were occupied for a while. If I'd been able to work out which way round I was I probably would have worked out the quickest route back to our suite but as it was I couldn't think in more than two words together. I gave up on thinking and moved from her mouth to the side of her neck, followed the long cool curve of her throat, when another voice cut through the night.

'I'll speak English if I want to!'

It was a woman's voice, shrill and with an edge to it that held a note of mania.

'Keep your voice down!' A man's voice then - also in English but heavily accented.

'I will speak as loudly as I wish in whatever language I choose.' But she had moderated her tone.

We didn't move, still staying back in our nice, convenient alcove; the voices were coming from ahead of us and I suppose that we could have retreated back the way we'd come but somehow we didn't. Curiosity and embarrassment can be paralysing.

'You have no right to tell me what to do. I'm an adult, I-'

'I have every right as long as you remain living in my house.'

'Then perhaps I will not be living in your house for much longer.'

There was a hiss, like someone sucking in a breath. 'Do not think that I will stand back and permit you to marry that man.'

'That man? You were the one who brought him to the house! He was your friend. And now...'

'Bah! He is not one of us. He's an American.'

'My mother was American. _I _am American: I was born there, I went to school there. It was good enough for you then.'

'Enough, Rosa!'

'No! It is not enough, Papa. I will not marry some man that you choose just because he is Cuban; and you will not stop me from seeing anyone I want to see!'

There were footsteps, quick and light and then a flash of white lace. The girl was still pretty but she didn't look discontented anymore. She saw us and stopped suddenly, her dark eyes wide.

'Don't mind us,' I said pleasantly.

She started and then all but ran down the path back towards the hotel.

Della sighed, frowning. 'That poor girl looked dreadfully unhappy.'

'Hm.' The white dress gleamed against the darkness until it was lost when she turned a corner.

'That's right, darling, you examine the case from every angle.'

I looked down and found Della watching me, one corner of her mouth curving up.

'Professional interest, Mrs Sheridan.'

'Hmm. But just what profession would that be, Mr Sheridan?'

I laughed and moved my arm from her waist to her shoulders. 'Come on, plaything – the mood has officially been ruined.'

We made our way back to the hotel lobby and stood blinking against the lights for a moment.

'Not exactly lively, is it?' Della said, looking around.

'They could use it as a museum exhibit.' I had barely finished speaking when Ruben materialised at my elbow. 'Oh, Ruben – just the man. Mrs Sheridan and I want to rid ourselves of the taste of respectability – got any suggestions?'

Ruben grinned. 'Well, sir, there is the Harbour Club in Miramar – very popular with the Americanos.' I looked at him; he shrugged and tried again: 'But for you I would recommend Club Estrellita, in La Habana Vieja.'

'Is it a respectable establishment?' Della asked.

'Oh no, señora, not very.'

'Sounds perfect.' She disengaged herself from my arm. 'I'll only be a moment.'

She floated across the floor; I lit a cigarette and offered one to Ruben who had opted to keep me company. He took it and put it in his pocket for later. I scanned the lobby and caught sight of my jowly friend from dinner: he was being helped into his coat by the talkative young guy.

'Ruben.' He looked at me expectantly and I glanced casually at the two men. 'The man over there, you know who he is?'

He looked over – not casually – and straightened up. 'Oh, yes: Alejandro Sandoval – he is one of our local entrepreneurs.' He pronounced the word with pride, showing off his vocabulary.

'Uh-huh. And the young couple with him?'

'His children, Ignacio and Rosa.'

I'll admit that surprised me; I had thought that the enthusiastic conversationalist was the rejected Cuban suitor for the lovely Señorita Sandoval. I watched them: the younger man fussed and his father looked irritable. Della had been right when she said that Rosa Sandoval looked unhappy but there had been something more than that in her face – something hard and wild. Dangerous. It had given me that uneasy feeling, like all the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

Alejandro Sandoval was starting to look more than irritable; his son held out a silver-topped cane and the old hard-ass snatched it out of his hands – a bit like a spoilt child with a bag of sweets. Then he looked at his watch and grumbled something.

'I think that they wait for the lady,' Ruben observed helpfully.

I put out my cigarette in my old friend the marble sand jar. 'Ruben, you'll find that a man spends many hours of his life waiting for the lady.'

'Well, you didn't have to wait too long for yours.' Della's arm slipped through mine again and she smiled up at me; she'd added to her ensemble a wrap of material so fine you'd barely notice it. She turned the smile on Ruben and his ears turned pink – I figure it did the kid good to be knocked-out by a woman once in a while, just to ring the changes. Ruben gave us directions and then I played the usual ritual with him and he put the jack away with the rest of it. At that rate we'd have to get him bigger pockets in his uniform. He melted away again and I looked down at Della.

'Right. Shall we go?'

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

**ooOoo**

**2**

**ooOoo**

The house-band at Club Estrellita was a riotous, all-girl affair: lots of flashing dark eyes, colourful frills and bare feet on the wooden floorboards. They set the tone for the establishment.

We had received directions from a friendly taxi driver who had taken us as far as Paseo del Prado before letting us out; we had not discussed it, neither one of us had suggested it, but somehow John and I had arrived at the agreement that we should walk through the winding old streets down to the club.

In a similar manner, I cannot recall which of us had suggested Havana as our destination to begin with. Maya and her new husband had headed for Europe for a couple of months. I had been to Europe before the war and John during it – which is about the worst time it is possible for anyone to see anywhere. I don't think that either of us could bear seeing the wreckage so soon; one day, perhaps, we'll both go back.

It was a pleasant stroll, through narrow streets that had an indescribable but not unpleasant mixture of scents: hibiscus and jasmine, dirt and cooking, briny air, exhaust fumes and the occasional whiff of donkey. The club itself was in an area closer to the harbour and we found it easily enough – a dark mouth of a doorway beneath a faded sign and even more faded awning. We descended a short flight of stone steps, opened a door and were hit by a wave of heat and noise. The air was a blue fug of smoke and alcohol, moved around lazily by ceiling fans that were wholly inadequate to the task.

'Aren't you glad we came?' John asked down my ear.

'It looks charming.'

He laughed and shook his head, took hold of my arm just above the elbow and steered me down the rickety wooden steps. The heat increased the closer we got to the main floor. Tiny tables were grouped so closely together that everyone may as well have been sharing one large one; the more privileged of the clientele were sheltered somewhat by strategically placed screens. There was even a parrot, bright blue plumage, on a circular brass perch, bobbing its head ferociously in time with the music. We were greeted at the bottom of the stairs by a large man with a great many square teeth, one of which glinted gold as he grinned at us. He looked us up and down and appeared to be delighted by our presence.

'You want table?' His voice rasped like a file against steel.

'We want table,' John confirmed.

'Okay, you come.'

'He's to the point, you have to admit,' John muttered to me.

'Behave yourself.'

We threaded our way through in the wake of our host. There were few other Americanos there – Club Estrellita was definitely favoured by the Havanaians – and those who were looked as though they had been in Havana ever since the first boat docked. Even so, we attracted little interest: it was one of those places where everyone minds their own business, few questions are asked and even fewer answered. We squeezed ourselves into the space around a small table and our genial host placed two ham-sized fists on the table and beamed down at us.

'What you want drink? We have everything, very good, very cheap.'

His sales-pitch amused me - perhaps he viewed us as a couple of vagabonds who had managed to get themselves all dolled-up for the night but could barely scrape together two cents for a round of drinks. Or perhaps he was merely indiscriminate in his pricing policy.

John glanced at me and I shrugged. 'Surprise us,' John told him, 'just as long as it doesn't come in a coconut or have an umbrella in it.'

For a moment I thought that the gentleman looming over us was having some sort of fit - until I realised that the hacking sound that tore at his chest was laughter. He delivered John a hefty slap on the back that left my husband looking slightly stunned and then ambled towards the bar, easing himself through the crowds with a grace that was surprising for a man of his size.

'It looks like you've made another friend,' I said; John collects them wherever he goes.

'Mm. If he gets any friendlier, I'll be in traction.'

I laughed and leaned back in my chair, taking another look around. When I turned back again I found John watching me: he was smiling slightly and looked thoughtful and it was one of those moments when I wonder just what it is he sees when he looks at me. I felt my cheeks burn and dropped my own gaze, studying the scratches on the table-top. A loud cheer attracted both our attention: one of the girls from the band had broken into a wild sarabande on the stage, her dark hair loosening from its pins until it whipped around her face as she moved. The ecstasy of her performance was infectious: it had certainly infected her audience, especially the male contingent - although, I suspect that in their case it was ecstasy of a slightly different form. We joined the applause as she finished. John offered me a cigarette from his case and lit it for me. I rested my hand over his, holding the flame steady, before sitting back again.

'Thanks.'

'Anytime.'

Our drinks were delivered to the table with a flourish: there was neither coconut nor umbrella in sight but there was a large quantity of fruit. We were treated to another flash of gold tooth as our host pronounced the name and then added, 'House speciality.'

He still stood over us, gazing down with benevolent expectation; we obliged him by taking sips from our respective glasses. At first it was rather as though an entire fruit garden had exploded in one's mouth – and after that it was as though the back of ones head had been blown off. I gasped and felt my eyes water. John raised an eyebrow and regarded his glass thoughtfully.

'Not bad.'

There was another bout of rasping laughter and the pair of great hands came together with a slap like a crack of thunder. Before he of the gold tooth departed again he bent towards me and informed me in a conspiratorial tone that could probably have been heard on the other side of the island that with such a man, I would bear many sons. I told him that one could only hope, which seemed to keep him happy.

John ventured another mouthful of his drink and then fiddled with his collar, easing it away from his neck.

'Why don't you just undo your tie?' I suggested helpfully. 'I don't think that there's a dress code here, somehow.'

'You wouldn't mind?'

'Of course not.'

His face relaxed and he tugged at one end of the black silk strip until it hung loose around his neck, and then undid the collar button of his shirt; he let out a small sigh of contentment. I felt somewhat content myself just watching him - he is one of those men who looks good when slightly dishevelled. 'You women have got the right idea, you know that? You're not fool enough to walk around all day with a noose around your necks.'

'No; we just truss ourselves up in all manner of other things instead.'

One of those slow smiles spread across his features; his eyes crinkled. 'Anytime you need a hand out of them, plaything, you only have to ask.'

I felt myself blush but held his gaze resolutely. 'Down, boy. Plenty of time for that later.'

'I may hold you to that.'

'Please do.'

He laughed and sat back – a momentary truce. I took another sip of my drink and my head took less time to stop spinning this time; I worked out that by the end of the evening I might be able to drink it without a flicker – but by that time John would probably have to carry me back to the hotel, which was an idea not without its merits.

The room had quietened: the band had been reduced to one girl with a guitar and she sang softly, her voice raw and untrained but sweet. It had a hypnotic effect on everyone there – conversations became muffled as though no-one wished to compete with or drown out the singer. There were still other voices, naturally, and one in particular was coming from behind the screen closest to us. It rose and fell with the cadences and animation of the born storyteller; I paid no attention to the words but then I realised that John was listening, openly, a look of growing incredulity on his face.

'John. John!' He looked at me vaguely. 'Stop eavesdropping, it isn't nice.'

'I'm not-' He tilted his head, still listening. I could hear the speaker quite clearly, even if I hadn't wanted to – I had ended up listening against my will.

'...So, there we are in the middle of France, in the middle of a field, in the middle of the night and then I feel this breath against the back of my neck...'

John let out a breath of laughter. 'I don't believe it.' He looked at me. 'I- One minute; I'll be back in a minute.' He stood up and walked past me to the edge of the screen; I remained seated for approximately one second and then followed him. I had to stand on tip-toe to peer over his shoulder. The storyteller was leaning back in a chair, his feet up on the table, one hand gesturing expansively as he spoke; he was dressed in the casual clothing one would expect to see in a coastal resort – linen trousers, navy blazer, jaunty cap; one would not expect to see a pair of worn cowboy boots, tan leather inlaid with a pattern in bright red but there they were. A neat beard and moustache completed the picture. He had a captive audience of two local men and was coming to the climax of his tale:

'So, he turns to me and says, "Buddy, when that farmer said that we could bed down with Belle with the big brown eyes-'

' "I didn't realise that this was what he meant",' John finished.

The man at the table started, staring up in confusion and his gaze rested on John's face. His mouth opened and stayed that way for a moment. 'John?' He blinked as though attempting to dispel an apparition, glanced at his glass on the table as though it might be the cause, then looked back at John. 'John, is that really you?'

'Yeah, unless there's something going on that I don't know about.'

The stranger leapt up, the chair he had been leaning back in rocking violently against the floor. He grasped hold of John's upper arm and they grappled with one another in that way that men do when they wish to express affection.

'What the hell are you doing here? I was just-' He broke off and addressed his two companions who were still seated and watching the proceedings with interest. 'This is the guy I was telling you about. John Sheridan. –My God, how long has it been? Two years?'

'Two years,' John replied. They looked at each other for a moment. 'Of all the- What are you doing here? I thought you were in Panama.'

A hand was waved. 'Long, boring story. Okay, not a boring story – none of my stories are boring – but it is long. Damn! You look well – you've been taking care of yourself?' The hand had come to rest on John's shoulder and grasped it, hard.

'I've been fine.'

'Good; that's good. It's been too long. You still playing at being detective out in New York?'

John laughed lightly. 'Yup, still there.' There was another pause and then he shook himself. 'Listen, there's someone here I want you to meet.' John turned suddenly, almost bumping into me and blinked. 'Oh, there you are!'

He looked pleased to see me at least.

My husband's apparently not-so-new acquaintance had his eyes on me, speculative, but addressed John: 'You know, your name turned up in a newspaper some weeks back – it said you got married again. Don't tell me I'm getting to meet Mrs Sheridan. Uh, this _is_ Mrs Sheridan?'

'Well, that's how we sign in at the motels,' John replied.

The man grinned at me. 'Don't worry, honey, I won't say a thing.' His eyes twinkled and I couldn't help but laugh.

'Jack, this is Della – my wife. Della, this is Jack Maynard. An old friend.'

'How do you do.' I extended my hand; Mr Maynard swept his hat off, tucked it under his arm and took my hand between both of his, bowing over it gallantly.

'Mrs Sheridan, it is a pleasure.' He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it.

'Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay, knock it off.' John swatted him away.

I have noticed that with men, no matter how friendly, there is always an element of rivalry. The man I now identified as Jack Maynard watched both of us for a moment: he did not appear to be studying us but he was – an appraising look that didn't miss much, even though well hidden behind a facade of casual charm. He smiled again. 'This has made my night – hell, my week! I, uh ... I guess you two are pretty busy right now...'

'We're not the ones with the audience,' John replied. 'Unless we're interrupting something, why don't you come and have a drink?'

Mr Maynard's eyes slipped from John to me and I smiled. He nodded. 'You have got yourself what is known as a deal.' He turned back to his two abandoned companions in a rapid rattle of Spanish; they smiled and nodded and he moved away, following us back around the screen to our table. His eyes lighted on our drinks and he chuckled.

'You two got sucker-punched with the old Fruta del Diablo, huh? Luis. Hey, Luis!' The large gentleman with gold tooth – now known as Luis – turned his head slowly and then grinned; Mr Maynard gestured at the table, one finger circling, pointing downward, in that international gesture that signifies the desire for another round. Luis nodded and the three of us sat.

'Have you been in Havana long, Mr Maynard?'

'Oh, about six months or so. And let's get one thing straight right off: it's Jack.'

'Jack.'

John's eyes moved between us; he twisted his wedding ring around his finger. Jack draped one arm over the back of his chair and looked at us.

'So this is the honeymoon, huh? I thought so - you've both got that dewy look.'

A rumbling sound followed that statement; I realised that it emanated from John's vicinity.

'Jack...'

He smiled, with no sign of repentance; Jack's eyes turned back to me. 'If you don't mind me saying so, you look like a lady.'

'I don't mind that at all.'

'So how did you end up marrying this joker?'

I hesitated for a moment. 'He was the consolation prize in a raffle but then the organisers wouldn't take him back; so I was stuck with him.'

'The first prize was William Powell,' John added, 'she was devastated.'

I kicked him under the table and had the satisfaction of seeing him choke slightly on his Devil's Fruit. He glanced at me sideways and one corner of his mouth turned upward. Jack watched us both and I could see the corners of his mouth twitching.

'We met through a friend,' I said. It was, strictly speaking, the truth: if it had not been for Lydia's recommendation, I would probably never have entered the premises of Garibaldi & Sheridan, Private Investigators.

'Well, that's just fine.' Jack leaned back in his chair. 'As you may have guessed, Mrs Sheridan, John and I were warhorses together back in the day.'

'So I gathered - and please, call me Della.'

He flashed me a smile. 'If you twist my arm like that, then okay.'

I smiled back and put my elbows on the table, resting my chin on my hands. 'Was he a good soldier?'

'Well, he could march in a straight line, which is about as much as you can expect, so I guess you could say he was okay. He could have gone pretty far; they tried to make him a major but he threw it back in their faces.'

'There's a time and a place, Jack,' John said lightly.

Jack held up his hands, then flashed a grin at me. 'How is he as a detective?'

'Oh, he's quite brilliant.'

Jack waved his hands at me. 'Aw, you're just biased.'

'Are you two done?' John asked pleasantly.

I pressed my toes against his ankle and left them there.

Our new friend Luis ambled back towards us with three drinks arranged in his great hands and placed them on the table with the tenderness of a lover.

'Gracias.' Jack grinned up at him. 'Luis, these are my good friends - John Sheridan and his wife, Della.'

Light bounced off the gold in Luis' mouth. 'Ah, bueno. You friend of Captain Jack, you my friend.' He delivered another slap to John's back - this time John had braced himself against it and followed it up with a little Fruta del Diablo as an anaesthetic.

'Thanks, amigo.'

'Captain?' John frowned at Jack as Luis glided back towards the bar. 'What happened to Lieutenant-Colonel? Don't tell me they busted you down.'

Jack raised his eyebrows, indignant. 'You think they'd do that to me?'

'Knowing you, it's possible.'

'Hey!' Jack inclined his head in my direction. 'I'm trying to make a good impression here.'

John snorted. 'Good luck with that.'

'Oh, you're doing fine,' I told Jack, 'and besides, I'm very impressionable.'

'I guess you'd have to be if you married him.' Jack smiled at me and I smiled back.

Under the table, John got his foot on top of my toes and trod on them.

Jack took a good part his drink and picked up his story. 'I run a boat - take tourists out when they want to play the big white hunter with the marlin, sometimes take them up as far as the Keys if they make it worth my while. Anyhow, people expect a sea-dog to be a captain and I don't like to disappoint.'

'Sea-dog, huh?' John tilted his head slightly, his eyes crinkling. He had my foot trapped happily between both of his. 'You know, I still remember what happened the first time you set foot on a boat...'

Jack grinned again. 'Go any further with that, soldier, and I'll remind you about early spring of nineteen-forty-three.'

John held up a hand. 'Not a word, I haven't said a word.'

They both laughed and then John stopped and turned to me. 'Oh, I'm sorry, Della; you've got landed with a pair of idiots.'

'Not at all; this is fascinating,' I said and I meant it.

'No, he's right.' Jack leant forward again. 'Catching up's all well and good for us, but it's no fun for you. So. When did you folks arrive in Havana?'

'Three days ago,' John said.

'What do you think of it?'

'Oh, we've been having a wonderful time,' I told him. To be fair, we probably would have had a wonderful time in an igloo or half-way up the Amazon. But from what I'd seen of Havana it was a lovely town.

'It's not a bad little place to hang your hat,' Jack said, 'I've been thinking of settling down here permanently.'

John's eyebrows went up. 'Settle down? You?'

'Yeah.' Jack looked at him pointedly. 'I hear all the best people are doing it.'

'I think Havana would be honoured to have you,' I said.

'I was right, you are a lady.' Jack leant across to me and put his hand on my arm. You know what, you're too good for that clown. Mrs Sheridan' -he raised his glass- 'to you.'

We all raised our glasses and I could feel John's eyes on me again, looking at me over the rim of his glass with that warm, impenetrable look. I took a cigarette and my holder out of my purse; John leant forward with his lighter but Jack beat him to it, holding the flame with a charming smile.

'Allow me.'

'Thank you.' I accepted the light from Jack and offered John a charming smile of my own; he squeezed my foot between his. 'You should have dinner with us one night, Cap-' He looked at me warningly. 'Jack.'

'I don't want to intrude.'

'You wouldn't be.'

'Well... That's real nice of you.'

'We're at the Nacional,' John told him.

Jack's eyebrows went up. 'The Nacional? What did you do, rob a bank?'

John glanced sideways at me. 'Actually, yes; but don't tell anyone - they're not on to us yet and we're hoping to knock over a couple of joints here before we split.'

'You clown,' I said.

ooOoo

We all talked for a while: Jack told us about life in Havana and we told him about life in New York. Jack was certainly an entertaining companion but he was no fool; there was a quietness beneath his _bon homie_ and his eyes took in far more than they gave away. The air still vibrated with the chords from the girls' guitars and their voices blending in harmony; snatches of conversation and bursts of laughter pierced through every now and then. It was a long moment of utter contentment and I realised that the men were talking again.

'You know, if you wanted to see around the harbour,' Jack was saying, 'well, I don't have any customers the next few days...' His eyes flicked between us. 'Though I guess you've got plenty to keep yourselves occupied with.'

Jack may have been charming but I sensed that subtlety was not something with which he was intimately acquainted.

I glanced at John and he was looking at me, uncertain, trying to gauge my reaction. We were both hesitant. Jack was silent.

'Sun and sea-air,' I said eventually, 'it sounds lovely.'

We all agreed that the following day would be ideal and that John and I would meet him down at the harbour in the morning. That agreement was marked with one more exposure to the house speciality, after which John told me that I needed my beauty sleep; I told him to speak for himself and he told me he was, he was just trying to pass the buck and I was about to see him turn into a pumpkin.

'You already are a pumpkin.'

He grinned at me.

Jack stood when we did, took my hand in both of his and performed a neat little bow over it. John rolled his eyes and then they pumped each other's hands good-naturedly. The band was still playing even if the girls were starting to resemble fast-fading flowers, drooping over their instruments. The customers all appeared to be in a mellow mood and we were treated to a chorus of friendly grunts as we skirted the tables. Luis waved cheerfully from across the room and when we reached the top of the rickety steps, John put my wrap around me and I took one last look across the floor.

'John, look.'

Jack had a new companion. She must have come through the back way, otherwise we would have met on our excursion to the door. Her white dress was covered by a dark evening coat but the gardenias were still flaunted in the gleaming black hair.

'I wonder if he's the American her father doesn't want her to marry.'

'Bloodhound,' John said in my ear. 'Come on.'

He had my arm and guided me out. Jack and the girl were talking at each other and she still looked agitated; he got her to sit down at the table we had vacated and kept both her hands covered with his.

Once we regained the outdoors the air smelt sweet; it was still heavy but there were currents of freshness blowing in from the sea.

'Aren't you curious?'

'About what?'

I tilted my head back towards the club. 'Jack and that young woman - aren't you curious?'

He shook his head. 'It's none of my business; correction - it's none of _our_ business.'

'You know, you're a very strange detective? You don't want to know about things.'

'I'll be curious when we get home - I'm on holiday; to be accurate, I'm on my honeymoon.'

'I had noticed.'

'Mm.' John had one arm through mine and put his other hand in his pocket. 'You don't mind do you? About tomorrow? I mean, you don't know Jack...'

'Oh, not at all; I like him - he's almost as charming as you are.'

'Nobody's that charming.'

I laughed. 'Besides, I'm looking forward to hearing about all of your deep, dark secrets.'

John laughed. 'Plaything, my secrets are neither dark nor deep. Well, unless you count the ninety-four wives and seventeen children.'

I looked at him, holding my eyes wide. 'Only seventeen?'

'I'm very shy.'

'Oh...'

He squeezed my arm with his.

'I understand if you don't want me to go with you,' I said after a while. He turned his head, tilted it at me.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean just that. You and Jack are old friends, you haven't seen each other for a long time; if you'd rather spend the day with him, talk to him properly... I can find something to do tomorrow.'

John stopped and looked down at me. 'No woman in a million would make an offer like that.'

'Of course they wouldn't, darling.' I played with the loose ends of his tie. 'It's one woman in a million-and-one. And I'm it.'

'You certainly are.' He paused, looking closely into my face. 'You really mean it, don't you?'

'Of course I do; I wouldn't have said it I didn't.'

He was silent for a moment, then: 'A woman in ten million. Tomorrow you're sticking with me, baby, whether you like it or not.'

Our route back to the hotel was a longer one, a path that took us down onto the beach and the long promenade that led back, eventually, to the Nacional. Brine mingled with jasmine on the warm air and the hair that had come loose from my pins blew across my face. The sea was black and silver and relentless, rolling against the fine white sand. I bent down to take off my shoes and the sand scratched against the soles of my feet. John had dropped back a little behind me and I breathed in the warm air, stopped walking and stared out at the water.

'That shouldn't be allowed.'

I turned, leaned my back against a tree and tried to make out John's form in the shadows. 'What shouldn't?'

'You standing in the moonlight looking like that.'

'Really?'

'All the other strong drugs are illegal, I don't see why you should be an exception.'

'Is that what I am? A drug?'

I could see him then; he walked towards me, stalking me, his face heightened in moonlight an shadow and his eyes glittered. 'Sweetheart, you're the worst kind.'

One hand either side of me kept me where I was, in a beautiful trap. I was aware of very little else, barely registering the rough bark at my back, the sand between my toes and the surf hard against the shore. My shoes dropped to the ground.

'I know exactly what you mean,' I murmured; he kissed me. 'Hello, addiction.'

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

**ooOoo**

**3**

**ooOoo**

The bedroom door had been closed for a good half-hour and I was waiting for Della to finish primping before we went down to meet Jack. I sat in a chair in the living-room that was part of our suite and looked through the book I'd picked up during my wanderings the afternoon before; it was from one of those dusty stalls in a quiet square run by a guy in an old straw hat where the whole set-up looks like it's already been there forever and probably has. It was a battered copy of one I already had back home but it seemed to fit the circumstances. I'd shoved it in a drawer when I got back to the suite and all but forgotten about it. Sounds came from the other side of the door - Della moving around; I turned another page.

They'd seemed to get along well enough last night, Della and Jack; and I was glad of that. I hadn't seen him for a long time; he was the first person to have met Della who wasn't one of the friends I'd made when I'd moved to New York. And they had got along just fine. Yes, I was glad about that.

The door opened and Della stood in the doorway for a moment and I looked at her. The broad-brimmed hat shadowed her face; her lips were very red. Pocket Venus in a white sundress and high-heeled sandals. There really should be laws against things like that; they'd have to write a new book of statutes just for her.

'Get all of the sand out of your hair, plaything?'

'Yes. You beast.'

I made a face at her and she pushed herself away from the frame; the book got put back in the drawer; I put my arm around her waist and she leant against me.

'You scrub up okay, I'll say that for you.'

'You really do say the nicest things,' she said.

'And I mean every word.'

She laughed and picked up her bag and we headed out.

Somebody must have finally given Ruben some time off - it was the first time that we'd crossed the lobby when he didn't pop out at us; the usual crowd were there and the ceiling fans were still turning lazily. Outside the sun had burnt off the morning mist and the cloud hadn't rolled in yet; the air was still clear and cool and when we stepped into the sunshine Della added a pair of dark-glasses to her get-up - the sort with the slanted frames that made her look a little cockeyed and oriental. We followed the promenade, walking along the sea wall, until we reached the marina where Jack had his boat. A flight of steps took us to the mooring posts and the rich, rank smell of saltwater, fish and motor oil.

He had himself a hut, wooden, with a sign that had once been bright but had been bleached by the sun advertising himself. At least, I assume it had been bleached by the sun - knowing Jack, he could have had it made to look that way just to add authenticity to his new persona of long-established sea-dog. The only sign of life nearby was a young Cuban sitting at ease on a pile of rope with his feet up on a crate and an old straw hat pulled down over his eyes. We crept past so we wouldn't disturb him.

'Do you think Jack forgot we were coming?' Della asked quietly.

'Nah, he didn't forget - he'll be around somewhere just waiting to make his grand entrance.'

'Compadres!' Jack grinned down at us from the promenade above, his arms stretched wide.

'See?'

Della smiled. 'I see.'

Jack jogged down the steps, flashed his teeth at me and dived for Della's hand.

'Mrs Sheridan, it is a pleasure to see you again.'

She laughed. 'I thought that we had agreed on first names.'

'We had, but I make it a policy to keep things formal with a lady for the first ten seconds. After that it's fair game.'

'You seem to have given this a lot of thought.'

'It's pretty much all he does think about,' I told her.

Jack grinned at me again. He'd taken his cap off to greet Della and it got shoved back on his head at what he probably thought was a rakish angle; he took a step back and looked at us. He seemed pretty pleased with what he saw - he nodded to himself - and then clapped his hands together. 'Okay, kids, time to get moving.' He wandered over to the young guy snoozing in the rope pile and nudged him with the toe of his boot. I've never seen Jack without his boots, even in dress uniform, and I guess I never will, which is fine by me - it's one of those things where if it ever changed you'd think that the world might be ending.

'Ibrahim. Hey, Ibrahim!'

The kid started so hard his hat slid off; he blinked up at Jack and then grinned slowly, showing off a mouth that didn't have quite its full complement of teeth.

'Hola,' said Ibrahim.

'I'll hola you right into the harbour one of these days.' I recognised that tone; I wouldn't say that Jack's bark was worse than his bite but that specific growl was the one that he kept in stock for the guys he was fond of. Judging by the lack of concern on Ibrahim's face he was wise to this and scrambled to his feet and grinned again. 'You got everything ready? Like I told you?'

'Oh, sí, sí. Everything ready - I just wait for you.' Ibrahim scowled. 'You are late.'

Jack jerked his thumb over his shoulder. 'Blame them.'

'See what you're letting yourself in for?' I asked Della, her hair against my face. She didn't say anything, just smiled back at me in that serene way she has. 'Hey, Jack, are you sure you know what you're doing with this thing?'

He stopped playing with Ibrahim's pile of rope long enough to say, 'Of course - it's me, remember?'

'That's exactly what I'm afraid of.'

I'll be the first to admit that I know nothing about boats - this one was boat-shaped, it was white, it floated and had no visible holes, which was about all I needed. As it turned out, Della does know quite a lot about boats so she and Jack talked technical while we all clambered on board the_ Amapola. _It was a nice rig - clean and orderly and nothing short of what I would have expected something being run by Jack Maynard to be. He may give the impression of being easy going and devil-may-care and on the whole he is; but he is also first, last and always a soldier's soldier.

Even if he was now busy being a sailor's sailor - or something.

Ropes got untied, the engine started and Ibrahim jumped neatly onto the deck from the dock and we started easing away. It was a nice day for it and it wasn't long before we could see the whole of the Havana skyline laid out - the Nacional was big enough that we could still see it from the water; the length of the Malecón that they were still extending; the dome of the Capitolio... It was a beautiful sight.

Della was standing next to me, both arms resting on the rail that ran around the deck, looking out across the harbour. Her face was grave and thoughtful, the way it is sometimes when she's enjoying something; I have an idea that it's when she's trying to commit it to memory but I could be wrong. Either way, I didn't disturb her, just stood next to her and after a while she sighed.

'It's lovely, isn't it?'

'It is.'

She cleared her throat. 'This would not be an inappropriate moment for you to put your arm around me or to hold my hand.'

I laughed; she was looking up at me over the tops of her dark lenses and her eyes were half-amused, half-appealing. 'Always happy to oblige.' I put my arm around her shoulders and held her close.

ooOoo

We moored some way out and if you looked at the sun bouncing off the sea for too long it would probably blind you for life. There were no other boats in sight, our only company was sea birds and the occasional plop of a fish when it came up to say hello. Della had replaced her white dress with a white sharkskin bathing-suit that left just enough to the imagination but no more and had herself stretched out on the sun deck; if she wasn't actually asleep she was giving a good impression of it. Ibrahim was doing what Ibrahim obviously did best and was likewise snoozing with his hat over his eyes and his feet up on the rail.

'Tell me something - does he ever stay awake longer than two hours at a stretch?'

Jack grinned. 'I don't know, but when I see it I'll cable you.'

He handed me a beer, which was gladly received; it was cold enough that rivulets of condensation ran down the sides. It was crisp and bitter and tasted damn good.

'This is the life, isn't?' Jack sighed, leaned back and stared at the light glittering across the water.

'It's not bad.'

He sniggered and shook his head. 'John Sheridan, the man who is a stranger to the word "vacation".'

I glared at him. 'Huh? Hey, I like a vacation as much as the next man.'

Jack took a pull on his beer. 'Whatever you say, Johnny.'

We were silent for a while, enjoying the shade.

'How's the detective business treating you?'

I shrugged. 'It's okay; it turns a dime.'

'I still don't figure what you get out of it.'

'Buddy, you would be surprised.'

He made nothing off that. 'What's the name of the guy you're partnered up with again?'

'Mike Garibaldi.'

'Uh-huh. He okay? On the level?'

'He's on the level.'

Jack pushed his lips out, then nodded and went back to his beer. 'That's swell, then.'

Ibrahim came to, ambled across the deck and checked the lines we had dangling in the waves that were our nod to fishing. Having satisfied his duty in that respect he fished a battered paperback out of his pocket, took himself up to the sun deck, got himself all settled and started to read.

'Five will get you ten that he's asleep in under ten minutes.'

Jack shook his head. 'No bet.'

I grinned at him and carried on with my busy day of doing nothing.

ooOoo

Jack was talking to me again but I didn't hear a word: at that precise moment Della had chosen to stand up and lean against the deck-rail and all I could see were curves. Somebody once told me that a feeling like that is nothing more than a nervous stimulation of the spinal cord. All I can say is if that's so then Della stimulated my spinal cord plenty. I felt a finger jab into my arm.

'Sorry, what?'

Jack looked at me and shook his head. 'You're a dope.'

'I am,' I agreed, 'and, brother, am I glad of it.'

'She seems like a real nice lady.'

'She is.'

'Tel me about her.'

That was a tall order. There were a million places to start and by the end of any of them I still would have fallen short. So I said: 'She loves Xavier Cugat and St Augustine and has a favourite Founding Father.'

Jack's face creased. 'Who the hell has a favourite Founding Father?'

I glanced in the general direction of the sun deck. 'Della does. And it's John Adams, by the way - you can't really argue with that; although, personally I prefer Thomas Jefferson.'

His eyes moved back to her, thoughtful, and then he looked at me. 'All fooling aside - is she someone you can talk to?'

I didn't pretend not to know what he was talking about. 'What do you expect me to say to her? "Hey, baby, want to hear about the time I strolled into Buchenwald in forty-five?" Do you think that would make a hit?'

He looked at me; I blew out a breath.

'Yes, she's someone I can talk to.'

'Good, that's good. 'Cos that's important, y'know?'

'Yes, I know. You don't need to tell me these things, Jack, I'm all grown up these days.'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.' He waved a hand at me and dug a pair of beers out of the cooler box. 'I'm just still used to saving your ass all the time.'

I put my eyebrows up. 'You what now? Re-writing history?'

'Commanding officer's prerogative.'

'Nuts to that,' I said amiably.

He opened the beers and passed me one.

'So,' I said, 'who are you talking to these days?'

His shoulders moved up a fraction and back down. 'Oh... Y'know.'

'So not Rosa Sandoval?'

'How the hell...' His face got a tight look, white around the nostrils; his eyes were dark with suspicion. 'So, is that it? Did Alejandro send you? He's got you playing detective for him?'

I gave him a moment to settle, then said, 'I've never met Alejandro Sandoval; I haven't actually met Rosa if you want to get technical about it, although our paths did cross last night. They were having dinner at our hotel last night; afterwards there was a ... scene, shall we say, in the garden, about Rosa and an American. Then we saw her with you at the club last night. Now, as I can count up to two and then add two to that and make it four it wasn't too hard to figure out that there's something going on with you and that girl. Stop me when I'm getting cold.'

He blew out a breath. 'Nah, you're right. You really are a detective aren't you?'

I spread my hands; Jack blew out another breath.

'Then again, you always were sticking your nose where it didn't belong.'

I grinned at him. 'So?'

'So, I'm in love with her.'

'Aw, you always say that.'

'This time it's different.'

'You always say _that_.'

He scowled at me and drank his beer.

'From what I heard I take it that old man Sandoval isn't too sent on the idea of you and her.'

'Yeah, that's one way of putting it.'

On the sun deck Della was practising her Spanish on Ibrahim; their voices rose and fell, broken by snatches of laughter.

Jack moved, squinting against the sun. 'I like Alejandro; we were friends. He hired me to ship some stuff he was importing and then, well...' He raised his shoulders fractionally and let them drop. 'He's a self-made man, everything he's got he got the hard way; and he wants the best for his daughter, not just some old gringo who barely scrapes a living and you can't blame him for that.'

'And he doesn't want an American for his daughter.'

His face twisted. 'Just how much of that conversation did you hear?'

'Just enough. They weren't exactly discreet about it.'

'Obviously not. Did you also know that Rosa is half-American?'

'I knew that, too.'

'The old hypocrite.'

'But...'

Something that you could call a laugh came out of his mouth. 'But. If I were a better man I guess I'd weigh anchor and get the hell out, leave Rosa alone. Y'know, do the noble thing. The sort of thing that you'd do.'

Della was laughing again; I put my eyebrows up at him. 'I wouldn't be too sure about that.' We were silent for a moment. 'So, what are you going to do?'

'Damned if I know. I guess there's part of me hoping that Alejandro will come around if we wait long enough. Of course, by that time I'll probably be in a bath-chair and Rosa'll have to wheel me around.'

'But that will make it a lot easier for her to just tip you off the edge of the pier.'

'You're great in a crisis, you know that?'

'So they tell me. Say, is that cooler empty?'

'No.'

'Then what have you got it closed for?'

He grinned and cracked it open again.

ooOoo

When Della decided to take a dip in the sea she didn't do it by halves - then again, she never does. She balanced on the rail first, her toes curling around it, looking like the laws of physics were things with which she was unacquainted. She dived, her beautiful body arcing perfectly before she entered the water without a splash. When I caught up to her her dark hair was sleek and smooth lying against her neck.

'What were you - diving champion at Vassar?'

Her eyes are grey but they reflect other colours sometimes; when she looked back at me then they were as blue and bright as the warm sea around us.

'Not exactly,' she said. 'And it was still Bryn Mawr.'

'Say, what is it you have against Vassar anyhow?'

She laughed, her limbs moving lazily keeping herself afloat. 'Nothing. Except that I didn't go there - as you well know.'

Beads of water from the ends of her hair ran down across her skin.

'Was there something you wanted, by the way?'

I looked back up at her eyes. 'Oh, just came in to cool off.'

'And how's that working out for you?'

'Not so much.'

She wrinkled her nose a little in what was meant to be sympathy. 'Let's see what I can do to help.'

The first thing I felt was her hands on my shoulders. 'You're not really helping.'

She smiled. 'I haven't finished yet.'

Della is stronger than she looks; she moved suddenly, pushing her hands against my shoulders and the next thing I felt was the water clear over my head. I broke the surface again and coughed. 'Right. You asked for it.'

She was as slippery as a fish and as fast as one. We tagged each other for a while, got water in one another's eyes and had probably swallowed half of the Caribbean before I heard Jack yelling down to us from the boat.

'Hey! When you two have finished dancing 'round the maypole down there, the chow's ready.'

Della smoothed her hair back. '_What_ is ready?'

'The chow - food, lunch.'

Her face cleared. 'Oh. Oh, good! I'm starving.'

'Yeah, that sun-bathing can really take it out of you.'

She flicked more water at me and slipped out of my grasp.

ooOoo

The horizon had turned from hazy blue to vivid red. Seagulls circled us in the hope of collecting any fish we were jettisoning - I wasn't sure that we had any to keep, let alone do anything else with.

'You know, this isn't the kind of gig I would have imagined you running,' I said.

Ibrahim was stretched out flat, his hands behind his head, staring up at the sky; Della sat next to me, her skin gold from the sun and the skirt of her dress moved in the breeze, clinging to the curve of her thigh.

Jack crossed one ankle over the other and smiled lazily; we'd been blowing smoke-rings for the past fifteen minutes, puffing away on the fine Cuban cigars he kept a stash of on the boat. 'You know I was never great at taking orders.'

'Oh, I remember: giving them, yes; taking them, not so much.'

'I'm my own man out here, Johnny. And there's an awful lot of "here" to be out in. You don't realise just how big the ocean is until you're on it.'

'You used to call it the Big Empty.'

He sighed. 'It is that. That's what I like about it; and there's an awful lot of stuff to fill it with. There's something about it that gets to you - and once it's taken hold it doesn't let go.'

'It was our first home, after all,' Della said, soft. 'All life came from the sea. Two-thirds of the Earth is covered in water; two-thirds of our bodies consist of water. It's all part of the same thing, we're just little pieces of it.'

'I guess that makes you a land-bound mermaid, plaything; where do you keep your tail?' She took my stogie off me and took a long draw on it, breathing out creamy folds of smoke.

'I'll show you later.'

I heard Jack laugh softly.

Maybe that's what takes someone to sea - they're not trying to find new land, they're just trying to find home.

When we started back for the marina Jack decided that we needed dinner and a drink or ten to make it a perfect day right to the end and we couldn't disagree with him. Della pleaded an hour's reprieve so she could get her hair washed; with the saltwater and sea air it was curling more than usual; I thought that it suited her but it was her hair to do with what she liked. As Club Estrellita seemed to be Jack's favourite spot in the city we agreed to meet him there when we were ready.

Havana came back into view, its buildings coloured pink in the setting sun; we joined the flotilla of fishing boats and yachts that were all heading back for the marina, then veered off as the _Amapola_ headed for her own little berth.

The dock was busy with the daily catches being unloaded but there was one group standing very still and everyone else seemed to be making a point of pretending not to see them. When we got closer I could see their uniforms; and they weren't smiling.

The _Amampola_ eased into her place and Ibrahim jumped onto the dock with the mooring rope. The little group in uniform moved, stopped again and one man separated himself from them by taking a few steps forward. Ibrahim was crouched by the post, the rope still in his hands and his dark eyes were on the men, wary. The guy who'd put himself out in front looked us over: Della got a cursory glance, I got about the same but he saved himself to give the real once-over to Jack.

'Señor Maynard.'

Jack wiped his hands down on an oil-cloth, threw it aside and leant against the rail.

'Captain Estevez. We don't get you down these parts too often; what can I do you for?'

'You will come with us.' His words were precise and only lightly accented; his eyes were pale.

Jack's head tilted. 'Okay. Any reason why?'

'You are under arrest.'

He sucked in a breath. One of the men behind the big-talker with the pale eyes had his hand on his hip, two fingers resting against his gun. Della next to me was rigid. Jack licked his lips.

'Arrest? For what?'

'On suspicion of the murder of Alejandro Sandoval.'

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

**ooOoo**

**4**

**ooOoo**

'Look, why don't you go back to the hotel? There's no point in both of us being here.'

'You said that half an hour ago and I'll say again what I said half an hour ago - and the half-hour before that and the one before that, actually: I am not leaving.'

Jack had been arrested as soon as he stepped off the boat. He had made no protest; I think that he had been too astounded. We had been permitted to go with him to police headquarters; although, I say permitted as though it had been a simple accedence - Captain Estevez had refused that request initially but John had prevailed. John, in turn, had then tried to get me to return to the hotel and wait for him. I, too, had prevailed.

We sat, side-by-side, on a pair of high-backed wooden chairs and John studied the posters and flyers that had been pinned with varying degrees of neatness to the message-board on the opposite wall. It was the second time in a month in which I had found myself in the environs of the official police department; there was a similar aroma inside the mock colonial fort as there was in the Homicide Bureau in Manhattan - I could only surmise that there must be something peculiar to the work of law enforcement that produces the smell.

The air, however, was warmer, heavier; no breath of freshness came through the barred windows. A desk fan did little more that ruffle the pages that lay on the counter of the placid desk sergeant; he had them held in place firmly with a highly polished pebble. It begged the irresistible image of him wading along the seashore during his hours off. My skin was still sticky from the sea-water and I could feel a bead of perspiration begin to roll down my back. I squirmed, shifting on my seat and the worn wood squeaked in protest.

'There's nothing you can do here.' It was a token statement only, a final salutary attempt; John said it with a tone of resignation. I looked at him.

'There is probably nothing that you can do and yet you're here. The least I can do is keep you company.'

His hand rested on mine for a moment, his fingers warm and solid.

In one of the offices a telephone had been ringing for well over a minute. It stopped, at last, and I wondered if it had been answered finally or if the caller had simply given up. A few minutes passed and then it started again. I hoped for the sake of the person on the other end that it was not an emergency.

I crossed one leg over the other and smoothed my skirt over my knees. The desk sergeant glanced across at us and nodded pleasantly; I smiled in response and he went back to the achingly slow process of typing something out using only two fingers.

The repetitious _clack-clack_ of the typewriter, the fall of footsteps in far-off halls, the endless insistent screech of the telephone... I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep, quiet breath.

John had said very little since we had left the harbour. His jaw had tightened and stayed that way and there was a hardness behind his eyes that I had seen only once before, one night in a house in Harlem.

'Señor Sheridan?'

We both looked up. Captain Estevez had appeared, silently, looked down at us. John stood and I followed, my knees almost locking after having sat so still for so long.

'If you will come to my office I would appreciate a talk with you.'

'By all means.' John sounded almost pleasant - and that almost was like a red flag.

The captain took us down a series of corridors until we reached an office that was of a decent size and notable for its carefully arranged clutter.

'Please.' He gestured to the chairs facing the desk - heavy dark wood with a leather covering across the top that was coming away from the brass fixings on one corner.

We sat; the captain circled the desk, pausing to straighten the wood and brass plaque that bore his name: Captain Ramon Estevez. He was a tall man and slender, with that air of wiry energy about him. His fingers were long and rarely still, his face sallow, slim and fine-boned, his eyes a curious shade that shifted from grey to green to grey again. His black hair was smoothed back so closely against his skull that the effect was less like hair and more as though he had dipped his head into a vat of gloss paint - and then used some of the same to flourish a thin moustache along his upper lip.

'Señor. Señora.' He smiled. 'I understand that you are friends of Señor Maynard.'

'I am,' John said, 'my wife only met him last night.'

'I see.' The tips of his fingers tapped together. 'I should ask to see your papers...'

John pulled his ID card and licence out of his pocket and handed them across; I searched through my bag for my own card and gave it to the captain who accepted it graciously. He studied them, his elbows resting on the desk. His eyes flicked up to me and back down. 'Della Ramir. Your name is not Sheridan.'

'We were married three weeks ago,' I told him, 'there hasn't been time for me to get a new card.'

He inclined his head and I caught a flash of his teeth as his upper lip curled. 'My felicitations, señora. And where are you staying in Havana?'

'Hotel Nacional,' John said.

One eyebrow arched fractionally and his lips pushed together. 'Ah.'

'We arrived four days ago; we're booked in for two weeks in total and the front desk has charge of our passports.'

'You are very forthcoming.'

John drew his eyebrows together. 'Is there a reason why I shouldn't be? I don't have anything to hide.'

'Americans are not usually so helpful.'

John pronounced the next words carefully in Spanish; I understood it as: 'Not all Americans are the same.' He sat back and smiled, a little wryly. 'That's as good as it gets, I'm sorry. My Spanish is not as good as your English.'

There was a quirk at Estevez's lips. 'The effort is appreciated, señor.'

They weighed one another up behind façades of amiability. Captain Estevez moved a sheaf of papers to the centre of his desk, nudging them a few millimetres to his right before he was satisfied.

'I understand that you spent part of yesterday evening with Señor Maynard.'

'That's right. It was a place called Club Estrellita.'

'Yes. Yes, I know the place. They have a very good band.'

'Very good,' John agreed.

'Pretty girls.'

'I didn't notice.'

The captain's eyes flicked back to me with a gleam that looked like amusement; there was a faint tick in his jaw. 'That is understandable.'

'At the wedding ceremony Mr Sheridan was not only married to me, he was also struck blind,' I explained.

The gleam of amusement spread until Captain Estevez looked almost human. 'I believe that is known as marriage American style.' We both smiled. 'What time was this?' Amusement died quickly.

'I don't know the exact time' -John looked at me and I shrugged- 'but it was probably around eleven when we left the hotel... Maybe around eleven-thirty when we reached the club.'

'And when did you leave Club Estrellita?'

'Around one-thirty, maybe later; I can't be precise.'

Captain Estevez nodded. 'Was anyone else with your party?'

'No, it was just us.'

'And with Señor Maynard?'

John tilted his head. 'There were a couple of locals with him, I don't know who they were, they weren't introduced. Jack left them and came to our table.'

'Anyone else?'

'We didn't meet anyone while we were with him. Well - unless you count Señor Luis, the bird who runs the joint.'

'I am also acquainted with Señor Luis.' There was silence for a moment while the captain studied John's face and his fingers drummed against the desk-blotter. John sat very still, his head tilted back slightly, his eyes narrowed and fixed on Captain Estevez.

'Señora Sheridan.' He didn't quite look at me for a moment; I waited until his pale eyes moved to me.

'Yes?'

'Is there anything you would like to add to your husband's statement?'

'No, that was quite accurate. Although, I would say that if Jack Maynard murdered a man between the time we left him last night and the time we met him again this morning - and for him to have behaved as he did today - he must have remarkable nerves.'

The captain smiled again, indulgently. 'You would be surprised, señora.'

I returned the smile. 'You are quite correct, Captain - I would be _very_ surprised.'

His head tilted back and he looked at me from eyes that appeared half-closed.

'Do you mind if I ask you a question?'

The captain transferred his attention back to John. 'Not at all.'

'Just what happened to this Alejandro Sandoval, and when?'

Captain Estevez pushed his lips together again and tapped his forefinger against his little stack of papers. 'The body was-' He straightened in his chair. 'I will arrange for one of my men to escort Señora Sheridan back to the hotel.'

'You need not bother, Captain, I'm quite all right where I am.'

He looked at me again and then glanced at John, waiting for the pronouncement - it was not forthcoming. He looked between us and his shoulders moved fractionally in a shrug. 'This morning at around nine o'clock one of the gardeners at Los Cipreses - that is the name of the Sandoval villa - found the body of his employer.'

'One of the gardeners... So, he was found in the grounds? Not in the house.'

'Sí, señor, the grounds.'

'Is that where he had been killed?'

'Most likely. The area around the body had been disturbed. He had been strangled. We estimate that it had occurred between two and four o'clock this morning.'

'Uh-huh. And what is it that makes you think Jack is responsible?'

The nimble hands with their long fingers spread regretfully. 'This, I cannot tell. What I have told you now is, uh ... goodwill? Yes, goodwill.'

John breathed heavily. 'Okay. What about bail?'

The captain shook his head. 'That is not possible tonight. Maynard must be seen by the magistrate and that will not happen until tomorrow. And as he is not Cuban there is further complication; we must deal with the American Embassy - and they are very slow. Much bureaucracy.' He smiled again, pleased with this joke.

John nodded. 'Would it be possible to see him? Just for a few minutes?'

He sat back in his chair and his head tilted. 'You are a private investigator.'

'Yes. I don't see what that has to do with it.'

'Do you not?' The forefinger started tapping again. 'You are an American detective, yes?'

'You've seen the licence.'

'You are not without money and where there is money there is power; and Señor Maynard is your friend. I do not wish for interference in this investigation.'

'I'm not looking to interfere,' John said. 'Like you say: Jack Maynard is my friend and if there's something I can do for him, I'd like to do it. I won't know until I ask him and I can't ask him if I don't see him. As for money and power... You're right, they do go together. They shouldn't, but that's how it works a lot of the time. And I guess that you think about as much of that as I do.'

Both the gleam of amusement and the tick reappeared. 'Very well. You may have ten minutes with Señor Maynard.'

Our papers were returned to us and Captain Estevez led us from his office and down another series of corridors lined with heavy wood doors. Outside of one, two young officers stood on guard, their spines snapping as their captain approached and they straightened, staring directly ahead. A few words were exchanged, one of them unlocked the door and Captain Estevez stood aside to allow us in. The door closed behind us, falling to with the hollow thud of a coffin lid.

The room was probably larger than it appeared: the corners were all in shadow, the only light came from a bare light-bulb suspended from the ceiling and a thin aperture set high in one wall was a parody of a window; it allowed just enough air in to make the atmosphere breathable. Jack sat at the table in the middle of the room, his forearms resting squarely on it and he stared ahead, apparently unseeing; his head turned fractionally towards us and when recognition came his face became very alive.

'John!' He tried to stand but could not - his ankles were chained to the chair.

John stood still, looking at him; his hands were loose at his sides. 'We only have ten minutes, so we'd better make this fast. Did you kill him?'

Jack blinked slowly. 'Are you really asking me that?'

'I like to think that I know the answer and I'd be willing to stake my life on it but I'd still like to hear you say it.'

A long breath was released. 'No, I didn't kill him. I didn't have any reason. Not for Rosa, not for anything. I told you - we had been friends. I still think- thought of him as a friend.'

John nodded. 'Okay.' He crossed the room, pulled out the chair opposite Jack and held it while I sat; he settled on the edge of the battered table. 'What happened last night?'

Jack's voice was hoarse; his eyes looked shadowed, more sunken than they had before. 'Rosa was only at the club about half an hour. She told me what had happened with her father, the argument they'd had. She wanted-' His mouth worked. 'She wanted to leave. Take the boat and blow; I said no. She calmed down after a while; I put her in a taxi-'

'You didn't take her home?'

He looked at me, a little sadly, and shook his head. 'I wanted to; Rosa said it was best if I didn't; if her father saw me...' He shook his head again. 'I went home. And this is the weird part: there was a message waiting for me from Alejandro; he wanted to see me.'

'He wanted to see you then?' John asked.

'Got it in one.'

'And?'

Jack ran a hand through his hair. 'I went. There's a sort of summerhouse or folly, whatever you want to call it, in the grounds of the estate; Alejandro said he'd wait for me there.'

'There's a main gate to this set-up?'

'Yeah.'

'And you just strolled in?'

'No. There's a side entrance, he said it would be unlocked: it was, I went in.'

'That must have been one hell of a message.'

They looked at one another across the table.

'I guess he must have really wanted to see me,' Jack said; his voice was calm and level and he didn't move his eyes from John's face. 'He called the place where I stay; my landlady takes down real good messages, as she's probably told Estevez and his crew.'

'Okay. Did you see Sandoval?'

Jack shook his head. 'He never showed. I hung around for a bit but I figured he must have got tired of waiting and gone back to the house, so I took a powder. I went home and I stayed there until I went down to the marina to get the boat ready. That's it. I've got nothing else, Johnny.'

'You told the police all that?'

'Of course I did!'

They looked at each other for a long time and after a few moments I had the impression of a conversation being conducted wholly without words; it was that sort of intensity that occurs when two people have become accustomed to trusting and understanding one another under desperate circumstances.

And all three of us understood that everything spoken so far would have been heard by Captain Estevez and his men.

When I glanced up at John again he seemed to nod, almost imperceptibly, and leaned back.

'Is there something we can do?' I asked. 'You must need a lawyer...'

Jack's smile was weary. 'That's real nice of you, Della; but things don't work quite the same down here as they do back home.'

'There must be something' -I was determined- 'the captain said that they need to speak with the American ambassador tomorrow-'

'Yeah they'll have a job. Tomorrow will be his day out on his yacht and then the rest of it will be at the Country Club' -his lip curled- 'making nice with all the diplomatic wives.' He looked at me guiltily. 'Sorry.'

'That's quite all right - it's at least one thing that's the same down here as back home.'

Jack had a nice smile: the sort that made his eyes twinkle and suggested all manner of innocent mischief. 'There is one thing you could do, if you really would...'

'Of course.'

'Will you go and see Rosa? Just- Just see how she's doing? She'll like you. And tell her I'm sorry.'

It was rather fine and terribly pathetic.

'If she'll see me, I will. Where is the house?'

'On Avenida Quinta out in Miramar.'

'All right. And you can do your apologising in person.'

He smiled at me and his eyes twinkled.

Behind us the lock grated as it was turned and the door swung open. 'Your time is up.'

The captain's dark hair gleamed under the glare from the light in the hallway.

'Hang in there, buddy.' John eased himself off the edge of the table and held the back of my chair; before I stood I leant across and grasped Jack's forearm. One corner of his mouth turned upwards.

We crossed back into the hallway and the door was closed again, the two guards resuming their positions one either side. God knows how they thought he'd get away or where he'd go if he did.

Captain Estevez drew his lips back into a smile and gestured with one hand - a sharp, stiff movement - back down the corridor. 'Please.'

We were walked all the way down to the main entrance and as we passed along the corridor that had been home while we had waited I noticed that the desk sergeant had finally finished typing his report and that the telephone had at long last been silenced. Even when we had passed through the portico that led back down to the street I had the sensation of the captain's pale eyes watching us - a strange, uncomfortable itch between my shoulder-blades. I was grateful for the clear air when we reached the outside again; John and I stood, not really looking at each other and neither of us speaking. The lines of his face were harsh and contained, his body so tense that one wrong word would have set off an explosion.

I put my hand in the crook of his arm; he glanced down at me and something passed across his face. We started walking.

'You didn't mention seeing that girl last night.'

'Neither did you.'

'The good captain was asking you, I was just an add-on. When did you know their names?'

'Whose?'

'The dead man and his daughter.' There was a pause. 'I take it that Jack talked to you about them.'

'Yes.'

'But you already knew who they were?'

'Yes.'

'You don't really want to know about things. Aren't I the fool.'

John stopped walking, so I had to stop with him; he faced me. 'Ruben told me.'

'How very considerate of Ruben.'

'Okay. I saw them while I was waiting for you; I asked Ruben if he knew them, he told me their names. That was it. It was none of my business; when I saw the girl with Jack it was still none of my business.'

'And now?'

He let out a breath. 'I don't know.'

We walked on.

The street opened out onto a large, pleasant square dominated by the cathedral. We walked around the square once and then I pulled a shawl out of my bag, put it around my shoulders and walked up the steps into the cathedral. John followed me in but stayed at the rear while I made my way to the font; we share many things but not the same faith. The air was the familiar, comforting mix of incense, flowers and wax. And it was far cooler in there than it was outside. Churches are always cooler.

It was a beautiful place, its walls pale, its arches perfectly carved. The lighting was dim, most of it turned down for the night and the red lamp at the altar shone bright and steady in the gloom. I stepped quietly, trying to dampen the ringing sound of my heels against the hard floor; the side chapel was empty save for one elderly lady swathed in great quantities of black Spanish lace. Her fingers moved incessantly over the rosary beads and her eyes were closed. I put a few coins into the box, lit the candles at the Virgin's feet and knelt. My prayers were short and I did not know whether they would do anyone any good except myself.

But when I rose I felt calmer.

I followed the same path back, peered into the shadows until I found John; he had moved from his position at the back of the church, skirting the pews and was studying the statues of various saints. He turned to me before I reached him, raised his eyebrows questioningly and I nodded. We both walked lightly, doing our best not to disturb the still air.

Outside of the cathedral, back in the plaza, the air was also still but heavy; high thin cloud stretched across the sky, keeping the heat in as effectively as a blanket. Pavement cafés still had their tables set out - music and laughter floated languidly across to us. John looked at his watch.

'We should get something to eat. Unless you'd sooner wait until we get back to the hotel.'

I felt a mess; but John looked restless and in need of the open air, not scented marble elegance.

'I don't think I'd make it back to the hotel without sustenance first,' I told him.

He smiled and took my hand.

ooOoo

The dinner we had would have been highly enjoyable had we both been in better frames of mind. Our table was intimate, our meal excellent and the musicians with their _son _repertoire were wonderful. We spoke very little throughout - not that the silence was strained or unfriendly; it simply was.

It was well after midnight by the time we returned to our suite at the hotel and I was relieved to finally wash the salt from my skin and hair. I looked in the mirror when I had finished with the hairdryer: the face looking back at me seemed grave, its eyes serious. For a visage that had been in the sun all day it looked positively wan. I pinched my cheeks, which helped a little.

John was in the sitting room, standing in the doorway that led onto the balcony; I crossed to him and took a moment to admire the view of silvered sea.

'It was such a beautiful day,' I said. 'It doesn't seem right that it should have ended the way it did.'

'No.'

He had showered earlier and his hair was still a little damp, strands falling across his forehead and curling slightly at the back of his neck above the collar of his fine white shirt. He glanced at me and then looked a little longer.

'Is that new?'

'I wore it the other night.'

'Did you?'

'I don't think I had it on long enough for you to notice.'

He smiled. 'That could be it.' His smile slipped away.

'You really do believe that Jack is innocent, don't you?'

'Of course. Why, don't you?'

I did not answer him immediately. 'I don't think that he would murder anyone; I don't even think that he would kill someone in the heat of the moment, not unless it was, oh, self-defence or something like that. I heard once that strangling is usually a very personal crime; it takes a lot of hatred.'

'Well, you can take it from me, he didn't do it.' His voice was taut. 'You said to Estevez you'd be surprised if Jack had killed a man last night.'

'I know; and I would be. But then I don't really know him.'

He sighed. 'I know. Dammit, this is a godawful mess. I'm sorry, I-'

'Oh, don't be. I'd say that's a fairly accurate assessment of the situation.'

John laughed slightly and some of the tension left his face. 'Do you want a drink?'

I nodded. 'I could take one.'

While John mixed drinks I curled myself into one of the armchairs; he handed me a glass and sat opposite me on a couch.

'You want to help him, don't you?'

John's eyes rested on me over the rim of his glass. 'The police will be investigating it. They won't want me getting in their way.'

'Yes, I'm sure that you're very interested in what the police want. John. It's obvious that Jack means a great deal to you.'

The corners of his mouth twitched. He sat leaning forward, his arms resting loosely on his thighs, his glass between both hands. 'I owe him.'

'Well, then. It's natural that you'd want to do something for him. Besides, it's what you do for a living.' I took some of my drink, the ice chiming against the side of my glass. 'Jack is the old friend who gave you Bastet, isn't he?'

The little black statuette of an Egyptian cat that had stood guard in John's apartment and was now resident in the study of our house.

He looked at me and his eyebrows went up. 'Yes. I- He- He gave it to me after Anna died. I think it was supposed to keep an eye on me. I... I didn't go to her funeral.' He rolled the glass between his hands; I nodded. 'I was stuck in the middle of a war zone- Even if I had been able to make it back I wouldn't have made it in time; I just...'

John sat back, put the glass on the table beside him. 'Jack's got this thing about Ancient Egypt; he picked that statue up in some bazaar in Giza or Cairo or somewhere. Everywhere we went, the cat went too. Every base, every barracks - it was the first thing he'd unpack and the last thing he'd put away. After I got the news Jack made me take compassionate leave - he dragged me off one weekend' -he glanced at me, wryly- 'I don't really remember much about that weekend. But at the end of it I'd wound up with the cat.'

'I'm glad - for the cat and Jack.'

'Me too.'

We looked at each other and I put my drink down; I kept my voice gentle. 'Anything else troubling you, my beamish boy?'

'Yeah - why are you all the way over there?'

John put his arm around me when I settled beside him on the couch; I turned my face up to his and he kissed me. 'Some honeymoon this is turning out to be; I'm sorry, sweetheart.'

'Do you hear me complaining?'

'No.' His chest vibrated gently under my ear from a soft breath of laughter. 'You're wonderful.'

'You're not entirely without merit yourself. Besides, this way I won't have to worry about your head imploding.'

'I- What?' He was incredulous.

'You just weren't cut out for sitting around on a beach doing nothing.'

Protest bubbled up. 'I- You-'

I laughed, straightened up and looked at him directly. 'John, you're a problem-solver. If you don't have a problem to solve, you'll look around until you find one and then solve that. It's part of who you are.'

His glare was both accusing and exasperated. 'You know, you haven't known me long enough to know me that well.'

'Oh? Haven't I? Don't you think we've known one another for a very long time?'

John's hands were on my waist. 'You can be a very difficult woman.'

'Darling, if I were not difficult you wouldn't be so interested.'

'That's what you think.'

'I know you too well - remember?'

I started to move away and he pulled me back, kissed me. I ran my finger along his cheek and then put my head on his shoulder. 'We'll have to arrange Jack's bail tomorrow.'

'Yes...' John went back to frowning. 'I'll go to the bank, see what I can sort out.'

'Can't you just write them a cheque? Or will they not accept them?'

There was silence, then: 'That's your money.'

For a moment I was not sure that I heard him correctly. 'Oh, for God's sake! We are not having this conversation again!'

'Della-'

I extricated myself, stood up and looked down at him. 'It's our money, John, _ours_. Yours and mine. Just like the house is ours and everything else that goes with it. If you can't see that- What if the positions were reversed? What then?'

'That's different-'

'Because I'm a woman?'

'Simmer down, I didn't say that.'

'You didn't have to.'

He tilted his head, his eyes crinkling and that familiar lazy smile started to appear. 'You look very lovely when you're angry.'

'Stop changing the subject.'

'Your cheeks flush, your eyes glitter-'

'John!'

He laughed and held up his hands. 'Okay, okay. You win, plaything. Tomorrow _we_ will sort out the bail.'

'Thank-you. That's all I wanted.'

He sat forward and his hands went to my waist again; I was still standing but he pulled me closer.

'I can't do anything for Jack tonight, though. You know, I think maybe I should give Bastet back to him - I don't need her anymore.'

Hair fell across his forehead and I brushed it back. 'Giving up your lucky charm? What will you do?'

'Nah, I have a better one: I've still got the quarter you gave me.'

'What quarter?'

'Your retainer. Actually, half of that's Mike's - I guess I should buy him out of it.'

His face looked so open and his beautiful eyes so warm... It is scandalous what that man can do to me with just one look.

'Oh, John, I do love you.'

He pulled me down to him; and he may not have remembered what I was wearing, but he seemed to remember very well how to unfasten it.

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

**ooOoo**

**5**

**ooOoo**

Della was still asleep when I slipped out of our suite the next morning; her face looked lovely and peaceful, the way it always does when she is sleeping. I had no particular destination, just a general need for fresh air and open spaces.

It was a nice day for it; there'd been rain during the night and the air was bright and calm. Further along the beach some local kids were kicking a ball around and having a swell time. They were a cheerful crew with bare, dusty feet and wide smiles. When their ball got away from them and landed at my feet I kicked it back and for a minute was part of their team. I walked on but their high-pitched cries followed me all the way along. On my right the blue Big Empty stretched away, and I thought that Jack must be getting pretty antsy by now stuck in his cell.

When I got back to the hotel I stopped by the concierge's desk to sort out a car - it looked like we'd be doing a lot of driving and I preferred not having every hackie in Havana knowing our business. With that done I started across the lobby and then a little guy popped out at me determinedly.

'Mr Sheridan?' He was a funny-looking character: pudgy cheeks, small bright black eyes, and a screwed-up little mouth; he looked a bit like a chipmunk and I thought it was a shame that I didn't have any peanuts to feed him.

'Yeah? Who wants to know?'

'Warren, Ward Warren' -he took my hand before I got any say in it and pumped it like he was trying to dislocate my shoulder- 'the _Havana Post_-'

I took my hand back. 'I'm sure that makes a very nice by-line. Good-bye.'

He wasn't that easy to shake off; he got in my face and talked fast. 'It's about the Sandoval murder; I understand that you're a friend of the chief suspect.'

'That a fact?'

He pasted on a smile that didn't do much for his looks. 'Look, I'm not interested in gossip - I just want to get the facts.'

'Good for you.' I tried to side-step him but he wasn't having it.

'Is it true that Jack Maynard killed Alejandro Sandoval over the daughter? Rosa?'

'Have you heard the phrase "no comment"?'

His little mouth turned up at the corners. 'Mr Sheridan-'

'Let me make this simple for you, Mac: back off. If you're looking for a story, look somewhere else.

I took another step and he took one with me; there were beads of sweat along his hairline. 'This is the hottest story in Havana, Mr Sheridan, and once folks realise that _you're_ involved, well, it's only a matter of time before you start getting hounded by the press.' I put my eyebrows up at him and stared in genuine disbelief; he didn't see the irony. 'And don't you think it would be a good idea to get your side of the story out first? Someone who's a close friend of the accused, who was actually there when he was arrested? You know the stuff some of these boys come out with... It's a human interest story - and it would play pretty well with the folks back home.'

'Why would they be so interested?'

He laughed. 'Well now... Society detective on holiday gets involved in a murder case-'

'What did you just call me?'

The black eyes were brighter. 'All the New York papers carried the story - the detective, the heiress... It came through over the wire that you were both down these parts. There's a lot of interest there. Say, would it be possible to get Mrs Sheridan's thoughts on all this? It would make great copy for the Woman's Page.'

'A piece of advice: I wouldn't say that to her face. Actually, here's an even better piece of advice: stay the hell away from my wife.'

His smile slipped some, the remnants clinging on out of habit.

'I didn't-'

'Skip it. You stay away from me, you definitely stay away from her - you got that?'

'You-'

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ruben swing into view.

'Is there a problem, señor?'

'No problem,' I said pleasantly. 'But you can do me a favour?' -I jerked my thumb at Warren- 'can you remove that?'

'Hey!' Warren started to protest but when he took another look at Ruben's face he backed off. Ruben kept going towards him, a nice easy amble that any tough street punk would have been proud of. There was a lot more to Ruben than you'd have thought.

'Oh, señor' -Ruben turned his head and beamed at me- 'the señora is on the terrace - she asked me to tell you when you came in.'

'Thanks, Ruben.'

I left him chasing his new toy and headed for the terrace. The place held the usual crowd; I took a look around, saw Della and saw that she had also acquired a new toy. All I could see of it was the back of its head and that told me it was male with dark hair. Della was smiling politely, evidently listening to whatever she was being told but there was bemusement in her eyes, and wariness.

There was something horribly familiar about the back of that head.

Della's gaze slipped away, found me and she smiled. Her new friend turned around and tossed me a smile that made him look like he was overjoyed to see me - and all my worst suspicions were confirmed.

'Ah, there you are! I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to turn up.'

'Hello, Mark.' I said it carefully and kept my eyes on his face.

'Well, well - you've already met.' Della didn't sound surprised.

I'd first met Mark Cole some years back when I was stationed in England - a little place somewhere on the south coast; Jack had been with me and we'd wandered into one of those bars that the Brits call pubs. There'd been a few other Yanks in there already and some of the RAF boys from the local base. At some point a fight had broken out and everyone had knocked seven bells out of each other. Then everybody made up, stood around the piano, joined in a few songs and drank warm beer. They have their own way of doing things in England. I'd run across Mark again in the middle of France - and that's something that's best just left. He cropped up in New York after the war and decided he was love in with Susan so he comes back regularly - like a toothache. And now he was here.

'Pull up a chair,' Mark said brightly.

'You're too kind.' I sat. 'What do you want?'

'Oh, well, I see you're in a charming mood - and on your honeymoon, too. Congratulations, by the way! I haven't seen you since ... oh, since Mike had that nasty run-in with those chaps from old Bester's place.'

'Yeah, and I've been missing you every minute. What do you want? Has he been bothering you?' I turned on Della, who looked amused at the whole set-up.

'Not at all. Mr Cole attempted to give the impression that I had upset his coffee while we were both at the buffet - and as he had gone to such trouble to attract my attention it only seemed fair that I ought to give him the opportunity to talk to me.'

Mark looked deflated. 'Oh. I thought I did that rather well.'

I grinned at him, not kindly. 'Go easy on yourself, brother - she's so used to guys falling all over themselves for her she can spot the real thing from a phoney at twenty paces.'

'I haven't noticed you falling over yourself lately,' she said.

'It's early, I'm working my way up to it.'

Mark took all this in attentively. He cleared his throat and leaned forward. 'I hate to interrupt such a scene of, um, marital bliss but I was hoping that I could talk to you.' He looked at me meaningfully.

'I'm right here, talk away.' A waiter floated past with a coffee pot; I took a cupful off him and he refilled Della's before floating on.

'I was thinking of somewhere more private...'

I drank the coffee - which was terrible - and put my eyes on him. Mark returned the gaze about as levelly as you could expect from someone like him. 'Were you. I remember what your private conversations are like, Mark - give me one good reason why I should listen.'

His eyes flicked down for a second and then back up. 'All right: Jack Maynard.'

My forefinger tapped against my saucer and then I pushed it away. 'Okay, you got me; come on.'

I started to get up; Mark turned his smile on Della. 'If you'll excuse us, Mrs Sheridan - I'm sure that you have better things to do than listen to us waffling on.'

Della's smile looked sweet if you didn't look at it too closely. 'Oh, are you? How considerate.'

I held her chair for her while she stood up and she took my arm; Mark looked between us, opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally said: 'Right. Jolly good.'

ooOoo

I'd lit a cigarette for Della and one for myself and left Mark to fend for himself. He's pretty good at that. Once we were all settled in the sitting-room I put my eyes on Mark again.

'Okay, you wanted this get-together: what is it?'

'It's about Jack getting himself arrested - rather unfortunate, that.'

'For Jack, yes. What's it got to do with you?'

'We have certain interests that, um, well, I suppose you could say that they coincide.'

I ran a hand through my hair. 'Let's get one thing clear straight off: I don't like secrets; I don't like subterfuge; and I definitely don't like having conversations with people I don't trust and who are holding out on me.'

Mark widened his eyes until he looked as innocent as a choirboy. 'You don't trust me?'

'You want me to give you a run-down of some past events?'

He glanced at Della. 'Maybe this isn't quite the place to get into that.'

'Maybe.'

We stared at each other; Della watched us through a cloud of smoke.

'You came to me; you want my help. Fine. But do you really think that I'm just going to go along with whatever it is without asking any questions or knowing just what it is that you want me to get involved with?'

Mark smiled, not something affected this time but something that looked genuinely amused. 'I'd forgotten how stubborn you can be; I never see you at work in New York - you really haven't mellowed.'

'Why, Mr Cole, flattery will get you everywhere,' I said.

He laughed again and put out his cigarette. 'All right. I suppose it was naïve of me to think that this sort of conversation could be avoided. But I'm not trying to get you involved in something. I need a favour of you and then I'll be out of your way; you can forget I was ever here.'

I all but groaned. 'Mark, the day you want a favour that has no repercussions is the day civilisation as we know it comes to an end.'

'I'd also forgotten what a grouch you can be.'

Della coughed slightly; I glanced at her and would have put money on there being a smile she was trying to hide.

'Let's begin at the beginning, okay? What's the favour and where does Jack fit into this?'

'I suppose you could say that Jack is the favour. It's important that he is released as soon as possible.'

'I won't argue with you there but I'm guessing that your reasons and mine are different.'

The buzzer at the door sounded and for a moment the three of us just sat there, then Della unfolded herself and murmured, 'I'll get it.'

She crossed the room and turned up the hallway that led to the door; I heard her open it, then exchange a few words with whoever was outside. She came back less than a minute later carrying a large flat white box that she took into the bedroom before joining us again. She took up her seat and her cigarette.

'Had enough time to come up with a story?' I asked.

Mark smiled and shook his head. 'No story: I'll tell you the truth. Not all of it, I can't do that, but as much as I can - and that's probably more than I should.' He was silent for a moment, like he was building himself up to something. 'I'm sure I'm not telling you anything you don't already know when I say that Cuba is important as a trading post; a lot of merchandise gets moved through here and not all of it legally. Quite a lot of it illegally, actually. And that's where the problems start. There has been a definite rise in contraband items being trafficked through Cuba, specifically through Havana.'

'Contraband - you mean like narcotics?' Della watched him, thoughtful.

'Narcotics, yes, but also armaments and other items. Some of these surfaced in certain South American countries, others in the United States - probably following a route along the Florida Keys.'

'Hm, Miami's pretty lousy with mob boys these days - that's organised crime to you.'

Della rolled her eyes at me. 'I know what the mob is, John, I don't live in a bubble.'

I shot her a smile and turned back to Mark. 'Don't tell me you suspect that Jack is involved in running guns.'

'Hardly. Although, he does have something of the cowboy about him - I can just about see him getting supplies through for a cause he believes in.'

Somehow I didn't have too hard a time picturing that either. 'But that isn't what you're talking about.'

'No. We know that merchandise is entering Havana; we know that it must be leaving because eventually the same merchandise or other merchandise of equivalent value surfaces elsewhere. What we don't know is how or who the middle-man is.'

'Why you?'

'Do you mean _why_ me, or why _me_?'

'I should have known better than to ask.' In the ashtray my cigarette had burnt out; I didn't bother lighting another one. 'What you describe sounds like what could be called a local problem, pretty far from your neck of the woods. And I mean "your" plural.'

'There are certain ... interests ... in certain countries in this neck of the woods that mean that these activities demand our attention.'

Della crossed one leg over the other and folded her hands in her lap; her attention was almost completely on Mark.

'I hadn't been in Havana long when I met Jack. I had no leads, very little to go on. Jack knows a great many people here, many of the sort of contacts that I needed. And, er, well, he does have the knack of getting well in with people. They trust him.'

'You don't need to tell me that.'

'No, of course not.' Mark fell silent for a moment and pressed him lips together. 'His running a boat helped, naturally. I explained the situation and as he hadn't been in Havana for very long either, he let it be known, discreetly, that he would be open to jobs that may not always be entirely legal.'

I could feel the mother of all headaches building behind my eyes. 'And?'

'And we were starting to get somewhere. Jack had made contact with someone who was on the fringes of the smuggling operation and he learnt that there was another shipment due in this week. That's why it's so important that Jack is released; we need to make that contact.'

There was a pause, then Della cleared her throat; her eyes were still on Mark. 'May I ask a question?' That was a formality - she didn't wait for him to answer. 'Was Alejandro Sandoval involved in this smuggling ring?'

He looked at her again. 'No, not that I ever heard. There was another name - Ernesto Vargas; he and Sandoval were business rivals and _his_ name has been mentioned but only vaguely. But not Sandoval. Of course, it doesn't follow that he wasn't involved.'

Della nodded and left it at that.

'I've got another question for you: why are you coming to me with all of this?'

Mark managed to get his eyes off Della and turn them back to me. 'I was hoping that I might be able to talk you into making certain that Jack is released with all due haste.'

'And just what makes you think that I wouldn't be doing that already?'

One corner of his mouth turned up. 'Oh, I thought that you probably would, but it isn't always wise to take these things for granted. I, uh, I think it might be an idea for you to have a word with your ambassador down here.'

'Why don't you do that? This is your party, isn't it?'

'Not my ambassador. Jack is American; I'm not - but you are. And you're not without influence. Either of you.'

I took in another breath that went all the way down and then released that. 'Well, as you'd already guessed we're doing everything we can to get Jack out. But now that I know all of this, you can't really imagine that I'd forget about it, pretend it never happened.' I gave him another smile that you couldn't have described as friendly. 'But I guess that's what you wanted to begin with.'

'Stubborn and perceptive,' Mark said cheerfully. 'I must say, I'm quite excited about this: you, Jack, me, all together again - it's like that time in Normandy.'

'You really thought it was a good idea to bring that up?'

'Ah. Yes. Possibly not.'

He made a big show of saying his good-byes before he split; when the door finally closed on Mark, Della was still in her chair still looking thoughtful. 'He's an odd boy.'

'You can say that again.'

'I think I like him, though.'

'Great, you can take him off Susan's hands.'

'I already have my own hands full enough with you.' She looked at me. 'What are you going to do now?'

I took in a deep, clear breath and released it. 'I'm going to pay a little visit.'

ooOoo

'Mark Cole? You get yourself mixed up with Mark Cole? Are you out of your mind?'

'Will you keep your voice down?'

Jack glared at me through the bars. For the record, I hadn't raised my voice but I lowered it further just to keep him happy. 'What the hell were you thinking?'

'I was thinking that people who peddle guns and dope to kids ought to be shot themselves; I was thinking that if someone asked me to do something about it, I should.'

I blew out a breath. 'Yeah, yeah. But Mark...'

'Yes, Mark.'

Jack sighed and rested his head against the bars. I'd been allowed a few minutes with him, down in the cells not in an interrogation room this time.

'You okay?'

He smiled, at just one corner of his mouth. 'I'm fine.'

'You look pretty beat.'

'That's 'cos I spent most of the night training up my new pet cockroach. I'm thinking of calling him Rex.'

'Good name.'

'How's Della?'

'She's fine; she says hello. She's also managed to get hold of the ambassador and persuade him to see us - we've been invited to the Country Club this afternoon.'

He nodded. 'Thanks.'

'And then we'll try the Sandovals.' I thought for a moment. 'Say, what's the son like?'

'Ignacio? He's okay. Talks a lot.'

'I figured.'

'Look, Johnny, I'm real sorry about all this. I didn't want you to know what was happening, not with Mark... I knew you'd have a big speech about it then get yourself involved.'

'Trying to keep me out of it, huh?'

'Nah, I was just trying to avoid the speech.'

We grinned at each other. 'Is there anything else you want to tell me about this smuggling gig - anything that Mark may have left out? I figured what he didn't tell us could probably fill a warehouse.'

'He's probably holding out on us over something, I'm sure of that. But it sounds like he told you as much as I know' -he sighed- 'which isn't all that much.'

Footsteps came down the corridor, with a nice accompaniment of jangling keys.

'Looks like I'm out of here. We'll get you out, don't worry.'

'Me worry?' He grinned again. 'I'm too busy teaching Rex to beg.'

I left him behind in the stinking cells and felt like a heel with every step. When I got back to what passed for fresh air I found my old buddy Captain Estevez waiting for me. The creases down the legs of his pants looked sharp enough to cut your finger on.

'Buenos dias, señor.'

'Buenos dias.'

'I hope that your visit was satisfactory.'

'That depends on how you're defining satisfactory.'

He got this little tick in his jaw that I'd noticed last night - I think it meant that he was amused and I was just thrilled to be the entertainment.

'Bail has not yet been set for your friend.'

'So I heard.'

We eyeballed each other. I hadn't quite got a label on Estevez yet - and I was pretty sure that he'd prefer it that way. He seemed honest and intelligent - even reasonable; but just because he seemed that way didn't mean that he was. He smiled tightly.

'Was there anything else?'

'No, I'll be on my way.'

Estevez inclined his head and I started off; I'd made it a few paces when I heard him call me. I turned and he came down the corridor, urgent, and asked that I remember him to Della.

ooOoo

I let myself into the suite and there was music, faint, from further inside.

'John? Is that you?'

'What would you say if it wasn't?'

I heard soft laughter. 'I'd say come on in, but you'll have to make it quick - my husband will be back soon.'

Della's voice was coming from the bedroom and I followed it to find the rest of her. She was in the middle of getting ready, sitting at the dressing table brushing her hair. She'd taken off her dress and put on a red silk dressing-gown instead; the sleeves fell back from her raised arms and her movements were slow and graceful. Her hair was lifted up, exposing the curve of her neck down to her shoulder; her skin was tanned, pale gold against the deep red. The robe had been left open and the lace hem of her slip lay neatly across her thighs, just above the tops of her stockings. An inch of bare skin lay between the two - smooth and soft and gleaming. I lifted my eyes up and saw the reflection of her face watching me in the mirror - her head tilted, her eyes crinkled and her mouth turned in that little lopsided smile she has sometimes.

Something had got hold of me just beneath my ribs and was squeezing very hard.

'How is he?'

'Who?'

Her smile widened. 'Jack.' She turned to me, her hair a dark cloud framing her face and I could almost smell its warm perfume.

'He's okay - holding up.'

'Good. Did you ask him about Mark?'

I grunted. 'He thought it was the right thing to do.' She smiled again, but it was something inward. 'What?'

'I was just thinking that I cannot imagine that you would have acted any differently under the same circumstances.'

'Oh, you were, were you?'

'Yes - do you not believe in doing the right thing?'

'Yeah, well...'

I sat down and Della resumed fixing her hair; she had one leg crossed over the other and a high-heeled satin slipper was half-hanging off one foot.

'John, what is Mark?'

'A pain in the ass.'

A laugh caught in the back of her throat. 'That's as may be but it isn't quite what I meant. What does he do? Was he S.O.E? I suppose that would make him S.I.S now.'

'You say that like a pro - what were you? O.S.S on your days off from the Red Cross?'

'Don't be ridiculous,' she said indistinctly. I looked at her, hard, but all I got was her hair tossed forward over her face while she brushed it. She straightened up again and her hair settled around her shoulders. 'Maybe I should ask you that - didn't he mention something about seeing you on a mission in France?'

'I could tell you, plaything, but then I'd have to kill you.'

'And I'm sure you'd do it beautifully. Really, though - is he a spy?'

'I guess he's a G-man of some type but what it is he does exactly, I don't know.'

'But he works for the British, not for us?'

'God, I hope so.'

'Why?'

'Because if he works for us we're scre- doomed.'

She laughed, stood up, walked across to where I was sitting and linked her hands together at the back of my neck. 'You really are a grouch.'

'I object to that.'

'I like it when you're grouchy - you look sort of cute.'

'Remind me to be grouchy more often.' Underneath the robe she was warm and thin silk clung to her curves; there were straps that were meant to be slipped down her shoulders. It was Della who slipped away from me.

'Stop that. It will take me twice as long to get ready.'

'I'm in no rush.' I put my hands around her waist again.

'You're incorrigible.'

Her perfumed hair was cool against my face and her mouth was deep and welcoming. She sighed, very softly, and I held her.

'Now, that's it.' She ignored my complaint, pulled herself away and crossed back to the dressing-table. 'I am re-applying my lip-rouge; do not make me have to do it again afterwards.' A tube with a bright stick of colour one end got jabbed in my direction.

'I hope that thing isn't loaded.'

'You clown.'

She picked up a bottle of scent, pulled out the stopper and drew perfumed lines across her skin: the soft hollows behind her ears and down between the curve of her breasts. When she finished at the mirror she stood up and crossed to the bed where the box she'd brought through earlier was lying. The lid was off and folds of tissue paper were showing; she pulled out a dress that looked dark and pretty shapeless; when she stepped into it it was still dark and-

You couldn't say it was shapeless. It was plain, almost severe, dark green with bits of brown, long tight sleeves and it sort of crossed in the front. She zipped it up before I had the chance to offer any help - maybe she didn't trust me to actually zip it _up. _Which in all fairness she probably couldn't.

'How is it?'

'Uh...'

She bent down to ease on her shoes. 'I didn't have anything appropriate for visiting the Sandovals - it is a house of mourning, after all. I got it in the hotel boutique. Is it all right, do you think?'

I cleared my throat. 'Yeah, it's... It's okay.' No dress had any business moulding itself to a figure the way that did to hers. I figured I should get us both out of that room while I could still think straight. 'We better get going if we're going.'

She collected her things and swayed out of the room ahead of me and I reminded myself what it was I supposed to be concentrating on that afternoon: Jack and the ambassador and the Sandovals.

_TBC_


	6. Chapter 6

**ooOoo**

**6**

**ooOoo**

It was a fast car that took us along the winding coastal road that led into Miramar. We chased nooks and tight bends and the sun bounced off the sea, dazzling the eyes at every glance. I tied a scarf over my hair against the wind, turned my face up to the sun for a while and closed my eyes. It was a pleasant drive and would have been more pleasant still if its end purpose had not been quite so solemn. I opened my eyes.

'John, how are we going to get to see the Sandovals? I can't imagine that they'd be too keen on visitors today, especially strangers.'

'Tell 'em we're paying our respects.'

We both had to raise our voices over the roar of the engine.

'Can't we just say that we're friends of Jack's?'

'Under the circumstances I don't think that would get us in there.'

'Mm. Probably not.'

We slowed for a bend, hugging the curve and easing out onto the flat, picking up speed. 'Does Ramir Industries have any holdings in Cuba?'

I took a moment and ran over the list of companies. 'There was a sugar plantation, but that was years ago. My father sold it to the workers for a dollar.'

John smiled. 'Your father was a man in a million.'

'You bet he was.'

Gears shifted. 'Okay. So, back in the day your father had business in Cuba; there's a chance that he came across Señor Sandoval, isn't there? Old business associates.'

I studied his profile. 'Let me make sure that I understand this: you wish me to lie to two young people whom we have never met before, the day after their father was murdered?'

'Don't think of it as lying,' John told me, 'just think of it as extrapolating a conclusion from a set of possibilities and acting upon it accordingly.'

'Truth and logic are just games to you, aren't they? You must have driven your college professors wild.'

His smile turned into a grin; the needle on the speedometer climbed and I closed my eyes again.

ooOoo

Avenida Quinta was wide, beautifully proportioned and very moneyed. Large houses in the colonial style were set back in well-maintained lawns, some of them hiding behind high walls topped with black wrought iron spikes, whose decorative attributes did not disguise their purpose. Los Cipreses was one such, marked by the brass plaques either side of its great gate - and the great number of motor vehicles lining the curved drive leading up to the house itself.

We slowed, easing past at walking-pace and we both stared up the driveway.

'They look busy,' I said. Among the rows of dark cars were men in a uniform that had become horribly familiar.

'Mm. Good thing we're going to the club first - maybe this crew will have pulled out by later on.'

'Maybe.'

I was still of the opinion that we should have telephoned the house before embarking on this particular venture but as I had already voiced it before I did not do so again. We followed the road, continuing until we turned back towards the water and reached the great sweep that led to the Country Club. Like all the other buildings we had passed it was imposing and well-positioned - a magnificent view from the cliff-top that took in the sprawl of Havana and the relentless stretch of sea.

Our car was relinquished to the care of a young man in a uniform that consisted more of gold braid than anything else. I fiddled with the folds of my skirt; the dress felt heavy, the fabric clinging uncomfortably. It may have been suitable as a mark of respect for the call we would pay later, but for our present environment it was hopelessly out of place. During our drive the air had afforded a constant cool stream; without that movement the air felt leaden and not so much sultry as sullen. The sun burnt against the back of my neck.

'Are you ready for the lions?' John regarded the entrance sourly; I put my hand in the crook of his arm.

'I don't think they're interested in Christians anymore.'

'Just as well - they'd be hard pressed to find any these days.'

'Stop trying so hard to be a cynic, it doesn't suit you.'

His eyes crinkled and he placed a hand over mine for a moment. We walked up the steps and into the foyer with its cool tile floor, its efficient fans and its comfortably tasteful decor that existed to remind the patrons that they were both important and wealthy enough to belong to so exclusive an establishment. I glanced at John and saw the tightening along his jaw - and unlike with Captain Estevez it did not signify amusement.

'You're not thinking of joining, are you?'

John looked at me. 'I'm with Marx on this one.'

'Marx?' It was an unexpected development.

'Yeah - I wouldn't want to join any club that would have me for a member.'

I tried to stifle a laugh, it turned into a cough and earned me an alarmed look from the young woman at the reception desk who looked as though she were trying very hard to be mistaken for Dolores del Rio's younger sister.

'Is the señora all right?'

'The señora is fine,' John said, 'she's just not used to being out in public - she's overexcited.'

I pressed the solid sharp heel of my shoe down hard on his toes; he flinched. He had hold of my arm and squeezed it; we agreed on a truce.

'We're here to see Ambassador Ryland - Mr and Mrs Sheridan.'

'Ah, of course.' She looked delighted and dimpled at my husband before checking our names in her ledger. 'The Ambassador is expecting you - he is on the sun terrace.'

John signed us in and then we followed the girl's directions towards the terrace. We passed through cool high-ceilinged interiors, crossed a shaded courtyard with its feature of obligatory tinkling fountain, and fought our way between a small acreage of potted palms until we finally reached sunlight and the outdoors.

It is almost wearying to report that the terrace afforded a spectacular view - all of the views in Havana and its environs seem to be spectacular - but it was. We did not stop to admire it, rather we studied the local wildlife of beautiful, expensive people.

'God, look at them,' John muttered. 'Probably not a functioning brain cell between them.'

'You ought not be so judgemental,' I murmured in response. He did have a point, I must admit: the men looked indolent and the women looked attentive - and as though they were well paid to be so.

John let out a breath and put his hand beneath my elbow. 'Well, plaything, we're entering the lion's den. You better start saying your prayers.'

I allowed him to steer me out into the sunshine and the tipple of conversation occasionally punctuated by high-pitched laughter that sounded too forced in its jollity to be genuine. There were eyes turned in our direction as we crossed the terrace - the judgement of people who are accustomed to judging everyone they meet, and we were strangely sombre figures in the midst of that gay crowd. We had not taken many steps when a young man materialised before us and enquired in hushed tones if we required anything.

'You can point us towards Ambassador Ryland.'

We were duly pointed in the direction of a lean elegant figure in white linen who was leaning against the balcony with the studied insouciance of the practised seducer. He had his admirers, two women who seemed to get younger the closer we got; they both had bright dresses and heavily painted faces. Their make-up was garish in the glare of the sun. The ambassador shifted slightly, his head turning and he saw us approach. He was a good-looking man in an understated way and had the air of being completely at ease with his power. It could, I suppose, make for an attractive combination if that were your taste.

'Mr and Mrs Sheridan?'

'Ambassador.' John held out his hand and they shook firmly.

'Delighted.' The ambassador turned his eyes onto me. 'Delighted.' He caught my fingertips and raised the back of my hand to his lips.

I was not entirely delighted - and I think it safe to say that John was even less so. But he smiled stiffly and said, 'Thank-you for seeing us at such short notice.'

A well-shaped, and well-manicured, hand was waved. 'Oh, it is no trouble - and it is my job, after all.'

His harem was dismissed - elegantly, which appeared to be his trademark - and a waiter was summoned in order to furnish us with drinks. Once we had been adequately furnished and the niceties had been dispensed with, Ryland focussed on John again.

'Sheridan... Forgive me, but the name seems very familiar. You're not in politics, by any chance?'

'You're thinking of my father,' John responded lightly, 'Senator David Sheridan.'

'Ah, yes, of course.' He was silent for a moment, thoughtful, and his eyes were keen. 'And I believe that I have an acquaintance with a friend of your family, Mrs Sheridan - Mr Greybourne?'

'Indeed. I'll pass along your regards to Duke, if you like.'

'Please do.' He looked us over. 'Well. What can I do for you?'

There was little doubt that his real question would be what we could do for him - but that was contingent upon the opening gambit being his. John looked at him levelly.

'There is an American man currently under arrest here in Havana - Jack Maynard.'

Ryland's brows drew together. 'I see. Maynard... I think I have met him - he runs a fishing boat?'

'That's right.'

A charming smile was flashed at us. 'Quite a character, as I recall.'

'You recall right.'

'I'm afraid that I haven't seen any reports about this yet - my staff are in the process of turning the facts into a twenty-page document, I'm sure. What has he been arrested for?'

'A man by the name of Alejandro Sandoval was killed-'

The brows came together again. 'Yes, I heard about that. It's a terrible business.'

'Did you know Mr Sandoval well?' I asked.

'Not well; I don't think that you could say that. I doubt that anyone knew him _well, _but we certainly knew him. He did a great deal of charitable work in Vedado; and his wife was American, Helen; I knew her rather better.'

It spoken without inflection, but I remembered what Jack had said about Ambassador Richard Ryland and I could not help but wonder just how deep that acquaintance had gone.

'Can I take it that you're about to tell me that Mr Maynard has been arrested for killing Alejandro Sandoval?'

'Yes.' John tilted his head back slightly and looked at Ryland down his eyes. 'And I'm also about to tell you that he didn't do it. You have no reason to take my word for that - you don't know me - but I'm telling you just the same: Jack Maynard didn't kill that man. What evidence there is is circumstantial. I'm not saying that just because he's a friend of mine - if he's a murderer he should get what's coming to him, but he isn't. Bail so far has been pretty slow in coming and I hoped that you'd be able to help there. I don't like asking but I'm not doing this for me; and this is important. That's it; that's my piece and I've said it.'

My husband is an impressive man. Standing there in the sunlight, his spine straight, his head high... If I had not known it before I would certainly have known it then. Mike once told me - in confidence - that if there were any man he would follow into hell it would probably be John; I can understand that; I would follow him anywhere.

Although, for a few slightly different reasons than Mike's.

Ryland was silent for a moment; he took some of his drink but watched John over the rim of his glass. 'We try not to interfere with the local police.'

'I'm not looking for anyone to interfere with anything, just for a little speed.'

One corner of Ryland's mouth twitched. 'Things move at a different pace in Havana: after so many years I've stopped noticing. Bail for a murder charge will be considerable.'

'There will be no problem with bail,' I said.

'There is also a possibility of Mr Maynard posing a flight risk.'

'No, there isn't.' John was firm. 'He won't be going anywhere, that's my personal guarantee - for what that's worth.'

The ambassador took another moment of silence; he stared vaguely into the middle-distance somewhere behind our heads. When he looked back at us he smiled a slow, small smile. 'I happen to be on good terms with our local mayor... If you will both excuse me for a moment.' His smile widened. 'Mrs Sheridan.'

He moved with the same effortless elegance he had displayed when standing still.

I touched John's elbow lightly. 'If you grip that glass much tighter it will shatter.'

He looked at me. 'I was just remembering what I said to Estevez - not all Americans are the same; but here we are, pulling strings.'

'I know...'

'I don't like it.' He drained his glass. 'I've never liked it; just because you've got a lot of money or you're somebody's son.'

'But it's for Jack's sake, not your own; and the Embassy would be getting involved at some point, we're just making sure that happens a little sooner.'

'I know, I know. I still don't like it.'

'And you don't have to; but we're doing what needs to be done.'

His head tilted slightly to one side and his gaze roamed over my face, appraising. 'This sort of thing doesn't bother you?'

'It isn't quite the same for a woman as it is for a man,' I said after a while. 'I have money and I have a name and sometimes I have used both in order to accomplish something where it would not have been necessary had I been a man. I make no apologies for that. But no, I don't particularly like it.' The look had shifted from appraisal to something like amusement. 'What?'

'I was just thinking, woe betide the shlempick who underestimates you.'

'What on earth is a shlempick?'

'A shlempick? A shlempick is a guy who takes a look at a girl like you and underestimates her; that's a shlempick - and he deserves everything that comes to him.'

'Flatterer. But it would be nice if the aforementioned shlempick didn't underestimate any girl.'

'Small steps, plaything. What do you make of him?'

There was a cherry in my drink - I retrieved it. 'Well, I wouldn't call him a shlempick.' John laughed; I ate the cherry. 'He's not quite as attractive as he thinks he is; and he's far more clever than he likes to show.'

'Hm. Let's just hope that he's as good at all this diplomacy as he likes to make out.' John rested his hand lightly at the small of my back and we moved to a pretty, shadier corner of the terrace.

'You weren't ever tempted?'

John raised his eyebrows. 'To join the diplomatic service, you mean? I had enough of all of that growing up. I think for a while my dad would have liked it; but it became very clear very early on that that wasn't going to happen. He respected that.' The lines of his face had softened, the way they always do when he talks about his father. I studied his profile for a moment; he turned his head suddenly and I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, caught in my indulgence; he found my hand and curled his fingers around mine. 'One lot down, one more to go. So far this has all been going too smoothly - it can't last.'

'Being a pessimist doesn't suit you either,' I told him.

'I'll work at seeing only rainbows and sunshine.'

The ice in my drink had melted, and it had not been particularly nice to begin with; I abandoned the glass on a nearby table. 'Will you be all right on your own for a few minutes?'

John's eyes darted in the direction of the various unattached females who had been watching him from behind dark-glasses ever since he strode across the terrace; his eyes came back to me. 'What? Why? Where are you going?'

'I just need a a little time.'

'Oh.' He looked slightly panicked. 'Right. Sure. You, uh, you won't be long, will you?'

I patted his hand. 'You won't even notice I've gone. And if any of that harem molests you, just scream and I'll come running.'

'Harem? It's more like a coven.' He tilted his head back. 'And you know when I said you were difficult...'

'Yes?'

'What's the next one up from that?'

'Uh... Challenging.'

'Up one more.'

'Impossible?'

He smiled. 'That's the one.'

'Oh, you sweet-talker.' I walked away from him and had the satisfaction of knowing that he was watching my every step.

Once I was inside I did not go to the powder room (as I had not actually said that it was my destination, I was not guilty of a falsehood; I had merely allowed John to extrapolate a conclusion based on a possibility - as he seemed to be so fond of that); instead, I entered one of the small lounges and located a writing desk. It only took a moment, and even less time to locate a young man whose willingness to help increased in direct proportion with the contribution I made to his funds. With that done I returned to the terrace; Ryland had rejoined John and they were talking quietly.

The ambassador noticed my approach first, his eyes focussing, sharp, before his charming, insincere smile spread across his features. John followed the look and I took my place beside him again.

'I was just telling your husband that I was lucky enough to speak with the mayor - as I said, we're on good terms. And he is on good terms with the Chief of Police here in Havana.'

'That is fortunate.'

'It is.' His attention went back to John. 'You are at the Nacional?'

'Yes.'

'Of course. Either I or someone from my office will be in touch, if not by this evening then certainly by tomorrow.'

'Thank-you, we appreciate it.' John smiled briefly. 'Jack will appreciate it even more.'

'No doubt.' Ryland resumed his pose against the balustrade, resting a fresh glass on the broad stone top. 'I hope now that you've found your way to our little retreat here we'll see more of you while you're in Havana.'

It was one of those moments where I wished I had a camera: John's face had a tight, fixed look and I had little doubt that the thought of spending one second longer in those environs than was absolutely necessary equated to John's personal idea of the seventh circle of hell. His jaw clenched before he was able to force a smile. 'Maybe.'

As Mike might put it - five would get you ten that we wouldn't set foot there again if we could help it.

'We'd be delighted to have you,' Ryland said to me.

I felt queasy. John's jaw tightened again. Had it not been for the fact that we were in a place that masqueraded under the term 'respectable' and we were depending on the ambassador's good graces, I may have been treated to a demonstration of the skills that John had doubtless picked up on assorted missions. (Such as the one in France, about which we do not speak.)

Any possible confrontation, however, was diffused by a wholly different attack. The audience to our interview had apparently decided that our monopolising of the ambassador had gone on for long enough.

'Dickie!' She laughed up into his face and a claw-like hand clutched his arm; the gold bracelet she was wearing was so heavy I was surprised that her wrist didn't snap. 'What are you doing over here?'

'Business, Clarissa.'

She looked at us accusingly. 'Business? No-one does business here, Dickie!'

He laughed lightly and patted her hand. 'These are our new guests - Mr and Mrs Sheridan, recently arrived from New York. Clarissa Austin.'

'How do you do.' She held out her free hand and John took it reluctantly.

'Hello. And, uh, good-bye.'

Ryland arched his eyebrows at us. 'You're not staying?'

'We have somewhere else we need to be. Mr Ambassador.'

We left Dickie to the mercies of Clarissa - and any other of his playmates who decided to join the fray. We had almost made it clear across the terrace when I heard someone say my name - a woman's voice, unfamiliar, and for a moment I did not realise that the person to whom she was calling was actually me. I turned back and found a good-looking woman of a certain age standing with an arch expression and a strange glitter in her lustrous eyes.

'Della? It is Della Ramir, isn't it?'

I looked at her in some confusion. 'Yes...'

She nodded, triumphant. 'I thought so. Mimi Van Buren.'

'How do you do. Oh, this is my husband - John Sheridan.'

John smiled, politely, inclined his head and I had the impression that he was watching her closely. Her eyes travelled over him. 'I read in the papers that you had got married... In Las Vegas, wasn't it?'

'I'm sorry, Mrs Van Bur-'

'Mimi!' She wagged a finger at me, playfully; her eyes still lingered on John.

I smiled tightly. 'Mimi. I don't recall us meeting before - have we?'

The fine eyes were turned on me. 'But of course you wouldn't remember - it was a long time ago. I'm a friend of dear Vivian's.'

I felt my smile fix and my cheeks slacken. For a moment I was aware of little; I could sense John beside me and I could see Mimi Van Buren's mouth moving and from far off there was a bright high-pitched drone that was her voice.

'..._such_ a long time. I haven't been in touch with her for a while, but I'll make a point of looking her up the next time I'm in Charleston; she'll be delighted.' Her gaze flicked from me to John and back again; there was an insolence in her eyes that I remembered from long ago, in another face. 'You've become so like her.'

'If you'll excuse us, we have another appointment.'

Her mouth widened in a practised smile. 'Of course, dear. We simply must get together for cocktails-'

The ball that had been forming in my chest lurched; my throat felt scalded. 'Thank-you. But we already have far too many engagements. Good-bye, Mrs Van Buren.'

I walked blindly, finding the door from the terrace more by luck; the interior was overly-dark after the brilliance of the sunshine and I blinked against it. And even though I felt clammy and my dress clung to me I still shivered. John was behind me, a warm solid presence.

'Is Vivian who I think she is?'

'That depends upon whom you think she is.'

His voice was very gentle. 'Your mother.'

'Yes.'

I could breathe again. I felt a little breathless, but I could breathe. There was a caged bird somewhere, I could hear it chirruping; I've always hated seeing birds trapped that way, beatings their wings so futilely against unyielding bars.

'Why don't you go back to the hotel?'

I turned around. 'Why?'

John looked at me, his mouth open for a moment with no words. 'It won't take both of us to take the Sandovals kids; and I just thought...'

'You just thought what?'

He was cautious, using the same concerned delicacy that people always did whenever this particular topic had intruded itself. 'I just thought that you could use a break.'

'I'm fine. Besides, I promised Jack that I would speak to Rosa. I'm fine.'

I turned again, starting for the foyer and after a few moments I heard John's footsteps following.

_TBC_


	7. Chapter 7

**ooOoo**

**7**

**ooOoo**

It was late afternoon by the time we hit Avenida Quinta and were following the curving drive up to the Sandoval villa. Della had been quieter than usual but her face had lost that strained look it had had; her fingers had been beating time against the side of her seat the whole drive down. But there are only so many times you can ask a person how they are and have them tell you 'fine' before you finally take the hint and stop asking. Thing is, I had no idea what else to do.

The prowl cars outside the house had moved on and the place looked pretty deserted without them; the whole set-up was too landscaped and maintained to be neglected or anything anywhere close but it managed to have that air. It wasn't a happy place and somehow I wondered if it ever had been; I thought of the few things that Jack had told me about the family: Helen Sandoval had died some years before and Alejandro had never quite got over it; the two kids were close and Ignacio looked out for his little sister. We rolled to a stop, walked ourselves up the steps to the front door, pressed the bell and waited.

'Y'know, this joint reminds me of the first time I swung by that little shack I now call home.'

Della smiled. 'You're slipping there - you appear to have adopted the speech patterns of one Mike Garibaldi.'

'There's no need to get insulting, plaything.'

She laughed lightly.

'You think they've got their very own Drahl?'

'Drahl is a one-off,' she said. 'There'll never be another like him.'

'Amen to that, sister.'

'Drahl likes you. And don't call me sister.'

I grinned at her. 'Drahl only likes me because I let him beat me eight times in a row at pool.'

She arched her eyebrows at me. 'You _let_ him?'

The door opened, its hinges nice and smooth, before I got the chance to answer that one. The person responsible for the opening was a tall character with less hair on his head than God had intended and possibly more nose. He had a fine pair of black eyebrows that were drawn together and he looked at us with a supercilious air.

'Yes?'

He was very definitely a specimen of the genus _homo butlerus._

'Hello. Mr and Mrs Sheridan; we wanted to pay our respects.'

We got inspected again - I felt like I was back on the parade ground and about to have five kinds of hell handed to me for not having my kit in order. Della kept her chin up and her eyes on his face; maybe it was that dress of hers that swung it because after he was done examining her from the roots of her hair down to her toes had stood back and said, 'Of course. If you would care to wait, I will ascertain if the señor and señorita are ready to receive you.'

One thing I've learnt from Drahl - apart from the fact that he should probably be known as Geneva Fats - it's that there's nothing a butler likes better than ascertaining something. We followed him in, across a wide hallway and into a small room that could probably have held the lobby of the Nacional within it. He left us there and the door closed behind him; I put my eyes on Della and she was wearing a look that was far too innocent to be real.

'Our luck's holding,' I said. 'Funny how it's almost like he seemed to be expecting us.'

She looked at me vaguely. 'Hm? Oh, yes.'

I still looked at her.

'It's probably because of the note I sent.'

'What no- When did you have time to send them a note?'

'I sent it from the Country Club - I paid one of the porters twenty dollars to deliver it.'

'He probably would have done it for ten. And I thought we agreed not to contact them before we got here.'

'No, you agreed. I merely refrained from disagreeing - I knew there was no point. Besides, it seems to have worked, does it not?'

I grunted. 'Let's see.'

She smiled sweetly, clearly mightily amused at the whole thing. Women aren't like men; they're not civilised like we are. They'll go behind your back, pull a stunt, and then smile at you afterwards and expect you to like it.

The damn thing is that for the most part, you do. If you know what's good for you.

We weren't kept waiting long: the door swung open again and the Sandoval siblings tripped in. Ignacio was taller than I'd realised but still a slight figure and he looked worn; tension and exhaustion had drained his face until it had a strained, sallow look. Rosa was behind him, quiet and nervy, and beautiful, anxious eyes. She held herself very erect, her chin up high. Her brother directed his first words to her, not to us.

'You do not need to be here.'

'They are guests for both of us.' Her voice had a pleasant husky bite that was made more noticeable through the strain she was under. She was the kind of girl who arouses in most men the need to put their arms around her and tell her that everything in the world will be okay.

Personally, I prefer the kind of girl who'll deliberately put herself in a situation where everything is far from okay and then dare you to put you arms around her. So it's probably just as well that I married Della, because even though she looks like she'll break in half if you hold her too tight she can be downright petrifying when she puts her mind to it.

Ignacio put his sister in an armchair and then marched across to us, one hand sticking out stiffly. 'Mr Sheridan.' He bowed over Della's hand. 'Señora.'

'Señor Sandoval. We wanted to pay our condolences.'

He nodded, his face grave. 'This is most kind. Please, sit.'

We sat. The place had the air of a mausoleum - and given the day that might have been appropriate; but this was an old feeling, something ingrained in the walls. Rosa looked lost in the depths of her armchair; she was in the deepest black I'd ever seen on anyone and the handkerchief she was twisting between her fingers looked unnaturally white by contrast.

'We were so sorry to hear about your father,' Della said; she spoke more to Rosa than Ignacio and the girl turned to her a little.

'You knew him?'

'No.' The hollow at the base of Della's throat fluttered. 'No, we never met him.'

'But your father was his friend?' Rosa looked eager; her lips were tremulous and parted, just the way you would expect them to be. I wondered if she practised it much or if it really did just come naturally.

'My father did some business here in Cuba ... a long time ago.'

She was hating every second of it; I didn't blame her - I wasn't blown away by it myself and it had been my idea. But just because the idea is mine doesn't mean it's good.

'It is most kind,' Ignacio repeated. He flipped open a box of hammered-silver that was on the coffee table and extracted a cigarette; he rolled it between his long fingers. There was no tremor in them, his hands didn't shake; his eyes weren't as tired as his face. 'Please?'

We both passed; Rosa hadn't been included in the invitation at all. She just sat back in her chair and carried on twisting her handkerchief.

Ignacio blew out a stream of smoke. 'And please, señora, pass along our regards to your father.'

'Thank-you, but my father passed away some years ago.'

He tilted his head at her, a sharp movement like a bird. 'Oh?'

Della smiled stiffly; I blew out a breath.

'Mister Sandoval, I'm afraid that we haven't been entirely honest with you. We were asked to come here.'

His eyes were liquid and dark as black coffee; he turned them on me and blew out another stream of smoke. 'Who asked?'

'We - at any rate, I am a friend of Jack Maynard's.'

The only sound was a sharp intake of breath; Rosa leant forward. 'You have seen him?'

'Do not speak to them!'

'He's all right,' Della told Rosa, her words soft and fast. 'He wanted me to tell you-'

'We have no interest in what he has to say.' Ignacio still stood by the fireplace; he'd thrown down the cigarette and his hand was flexing, opening and closing, like the claws on an angry cat. 'This is the man who murdered my father.'

'Ignacio, no-' Rosa was half-out of her chair and stopped; there was a look in Ignacio's face as he turned to her that I couldn't quite catch and it was gone before I was sure.

'Do not defend him. He is a liar and murderer.' He turned back and his black eyes glittered. 'This is why you have come to my house? Because you have a killer for a friend.'

'Jack's been arrested, that isn't the same thing-'

He made a noise - a small volcanic sound forced between his lips; his words came out in a torrent. 'He has been arrested, yes. You think our police here in Havana are so ... so incompetent? I know about your fine American policemen, ours are not like that, they are no corrupt, they are no so easily bought. If Jack Maynard has been arrested he is guilty and he will pay.'

'We didn't come here to upset you.'

'I think you should leave. I want you out.' He glanced over his shoulder. 'Rosa, go to your room.'

She was very still, her hands gripping the arms of her chair; when she stood it was slow and she kept her eyes on Della's face.

'Rosa!'

The girl caught her breath, deep. There was the same look in her face again, the one she'd had that night at the hotel. Hard and wild and a little dangerous. She walked across the room, opened the door very quietly and left it open after she went through.

'And now you.'

And so that was it. The house seemed even quieter on the way out than it had on the way in. I handed Della into the car; she slid along the seat and I got in next to her.

'So much for luck.'

'Yes...' She shivered and rubbed her hands along her arms. 'That was far from pleasant. I feel so sorry for that poor child.'

Della is twenty-nine and Rosa not much younger, but I guess that Della has got into the habit of playing the big sister to people. She's had plenty of practice. 'She looked so ... lost.'

'Hm. Yeah, that too.'

'What do you mean?'

'Oh, nothing. Just that someone has to have killed Sandoval and Rosa has just as much motive as anyone. Her father ran her life for her; and she sounded pretty sick of it the other night. Could be that she'd had enough once and for all.'

She stared at me, her mouth a little open, and for a moment it was like she was looking at a stranger. 'You can't really be serious. John, that- that's a terrible thing to say.'

'It's a terrible thing to think, but it's a thought.'

Della pressed her lips together and shivered again. 'Sleuthing isn't much fun sometimes, is it?'

I threw the car into gear and let out the throttle. 'It's never fun.'

ooOoo

Back at the hotel we asked for any messages and there weren't any; if Ryland was actually getting anywhere with the mayor, the police chief, and maybe even the president for all I knew, he hadn't got there yet. We went back to our suite and thought about getting ourselves fixed up with some food. Della was brushing her hair when I went down to the kiosk in the lobby to buy cigarettes. The ceiling fans still rotated, languid, and the place had that still, quiet air that places have before the real onslaught of alcohol and forced good times begin. One character had started early: he wandered past, just about getting one foot in front of the other and his face was as sloppy as a bowl of Jell-O. When a bum is a drunk he's just a drunk, but when a guy with money is a drunk he's still somehow respectable. When he throws-up in the rose bushes it's okay because he's paying for someone to come along and clean it up after him. He lurched along, stumbling out to the gardens through the french doors that a bellhop held open for him. He fell through them and the kid closed the doors after him, his face remote and bored; he'd seen it all too many times before to have much feeling about it now.

I took the cigarettes and started back for the elevator; on my way across I saw another face: my chipmunk friend from that morning, peering at me from around a pillar. I grinned at him unpleasantly and he vanished again.

Back in our suite, Della was in the sitting-room with her hairbrush in one hand and the telephone receiver in the over.

'-it's bail money. No, it is not for John! ...Why would we be coming home earlier?' She sighed. 'Leonard, will you please just do as I ask? ...Thank-you ... Yes. Good-night, Leonard.' She replaced the receiver and her hand rested on top of it. 'He's been behaving very strangely lately,' she said, distracted. 'I don't know what's wrong with him.'

She meant it, too. I'd only known Leonard Chadwick all of five seconds before I knew how he felt about Della; pretty much everyone knew how he felt about Della; the only one who didn't know was Della herself. Whether she couldn't see it or just didn't want to, I don't know; but I'd made the mistake of trying to bring it up once before so I kept my opinions to myself.

Della went back into the bedroom, sat at the dressing table and started on her hair again. She wasn't quite looking in the mirror, just looking at some patch of air that didn't contain anything. Her shoulders were as close to sagging as I'd ever seen her. I sat next to her on the long low stool.

'You want to tell me what's up?'

A smile hardly worth the name chased across her face. 'It's nothing.'

'Is it what Mimi Rich-bitch said to you?'

'John...'

She held the brush in her lap between both hands, and she still didn't quite look at anything. 'I keep thinking I can get away from it... I've only seen my mother twice since I was ten years old. It wasn't the first time she'd walked out - she'd left before; but this time she didn't come back. It's like something out of a Mitford novel, it's a wonder they don't call her The Bolter-' There were scars, old, covered over and down so deep that you didn't even know they were there just to look at her. Della's breath was sharp; she pressed her lips together, hard; she released a breath slowly and the hairbrush was in a death grip. 'I know what people say; I know what they all think: that after all I'm just like her; that I ran off with the first man who came along and I'll leave you for the next one that asks me to.'

'Sweetheart... We both know that that isn't true.'

She turned to me, faced me, and those scars looked vivid and fresh. 'Do you? Don't you wonder: like mother, like daughter? that maybe you just married a little tramp?'

'No.'

Della bit the inside of her lip; I took the brush from her and held her hands between mine; her fingers were icy. I watched her helplessly, feeling pretty useless, and thinking that if I ever came across Vivian Ramir I'd probably wring her neck.

'It's always the same, no matter where I am. As soon as her name comes up... What's your mother like?'

I gave it a moment. 'She's a smart lady, keeps my dad on his toes... She spent most of her time bringing us kids up; she's a homemaker, mostly.'

'That must have been nice. God, what must she think of me.'

My fingers tightened around hers. 'Listen to me: she'll love you.'

'No, _you_ love me; and you think that everyone else will just because you do.'

'What happened to that girl from last night who told me how well we know each other? Do you think that I don't know you? that I don't know what you're like? Or do you think I'm such a bad judge of character that I'd fall for just any girl? I love you because of all the things you are and anyone who knows you will see the same things I do.'

There was a smile but it was still wistful. 'Anyone who knows me... My own family- You should have seen the telegram Aunt Lucy sent around when we got married: it said "Della has gone wild".'

I couldn't help it, I laughed. Her grey eyes brightened.

'I can be wild!'

I put my arm around her. 'Of course you can, baby.' Her head rested on my shoulder and I felt a long breath against the side of my neck. 'I thought you didn't care what they think.'

'I don't. Most of the time. It just catches you off-guard sometimes.'

Her hair was soft against my cheek and I got her settled close against me. 'Well, if you do run off,' I told her, 'I won't get sore, I'll just come chasing after you.' I could just about see her smiling.

'It might be worth it for that alone. Anyway, I might not be the one who goes - you might be the one who abandons me.'

'There's always that possibility.'

'Well, when that happens I'm going to marry Jack.'

'Okay... But just so you know: he eats five times a day and whistles _Deep in the Heart of Texas_ in his sleep.'

She laughed softly, more of a chuckle low in her throat. 'I'll keep the larder well stocked and buy some ear plugs.'

'That's my girl.'

'I am that.' She moved her head off my shoulder, put her arms around my neck and kissed me; her lips and teeth parted and I felt the tip of her tongue press against mine. I stroked her hair, curled it around my fingers.

'We should probably think about getting some dinner,' I said after a few minutes.

She tilted her head back; she was soft-focussed and starry-eyed. 'To hell with dinner.'

_TBC_


	8. Chapter 8

**ooOoo**

**8**

**ooOoo**

'Right, see those two over there? His name is Everett Jefferson Ratzenheimer the Third; and that's his wife, Millicent - everyone calls her Milly. They're down here celebrating their forty-fifth anniversary.'

'They only look about fifty years old now.'

'They started young. Anyhow, theirs is a romantic story: they met... Hm, how did they meet?'

'At the Kentucky Derby.'

'Absolutely, they met at the races-'

'He was the jockey, Milly had a bet on his horse.'

'Him a jockey? Give a thought to the horse, plaything, he'd break its back.'

'He was just a child, remember?'

'Oh yeah... So, Everett the five-year-old jockey was coming down the homestretch on his horse, Rivercracker-'

'Rivercracker?'

'Ancestor of Seabiscuit - now stop interrupting...'

We were still waiting on the phonecall from Ambassador Ryland, consequently we could not leave the hotel - as John had pointed out, chances were that as soon as we set foot outside, the call would come through. We opted for a late, leisurely breakfast and opted to explore the hotel's many terraces on which to have it.

Until you have wandered around the Hotel Nacional, you have no idea how big it really is. One wrong turning led us to what appeared to be the maintenance area; however, there we met a very nice man named Javier, who chatted to us happily, and showed us photographs of his three sisters, two brothers, his wife and six children. All were lovely and we told him so. Javier pointed us in the correct direction and we eventually made it to a terrace where we were served breakfast, and John kept himself amused by making up life stories for everyone in sight - which is how Everett and Milly come into it. Not to mention Rivercracker.

'...whereupon he threw Milly across his saddle, offered her a toffee, and rode off into the gymkhana field.'

'How romantic.'

'Isn't it?'

On the surface John was all calm good humour; but his eyes moved restlessly, and in each movement he made there was barely contained energy.

The air was still heavy - storm clouds had built up overnight but there had been no rain to bring respite; the night had been long and everything had felt sticky. I had woken around dawn and a steely light had been forcing its way through the cracks in the heavy drapes; my nightgown had been clinging to my skin, its folds wrapped around me like a shroud. John lay on his back, very still, staring at the ceiling.

'Penny for them,' I said softly.

'They're not even worth that. Did I wake you?'

'No. It's just so hot tonight.'

'Yeah. Damn, I wish it would rain.'

'It might - there's thunder in the distance.'

'Maybe'. His hand found mine in the darkness. 'Go back to sleep, sweetheart.'

He didn't say anything else and neither did I; but he kept hold of my hand, and still held it when his breathing slowed, deepened, and he drifted into sleep. It was not an easy one. In the half-light I could make out his face: he didn't look younger or more vulnerable, the way they always say that people are supposed to; he looked tired and careworn and much older. Life must be far simpler for people who don't care for anyone or anything beside themselves; but they have never been the people with whom I wish to associate.

John sat back in his chair, one finger tapping against the side of his cup. 'When this is done we'll need a holiday to recover from the holiday.'

I smiled. 'If events to date are anything to go by, we could be the only two people on a hitherto undiscovered desert island and still stumble into the middle of a mystery.'

'You might be right there; but I was thinking of somewhere a little closer to home than a desert island - more like Washington.'

'Oh.' I took a sip of my coffee. 'You mean _that_ visit.'

John watched me; it was an intense gaze and his eyes - with their ever-changing colour - looked darker. 'I can promise you that my whole family put together doesn't add up to one Aunt Lucy. And if I survived that...'

I still played for time. 'Can't you just tell them that you keep me locked up in the attic?'

'That idea does have its own attractions...' He reached across and took hold of my hand, his fingers squeezing mine. 'They're dying to meet you; and if we don't go to them, we'll get the whole clan coming to visit us. My mother will take over the kitchen and drive Drahl wild; Lizzy's kids will pull your hair, ruin your orchids and make you take them to the park at three o'clock in the morning, because I don't think they ever sleep.'

I pushed down the winged insects that seemed to have taken up residence just behind my ribcage. 'In that case- I haven't been to Washington for years, after all...'

He ran his thumb across the back of my hand.

'Mind if I join you?'

It was a bright voice that broke in and John flinched visibly. 'Yes.'

Mark Cole laughed and sat down regardless. 'I was just passing through the neighbourhood and thought I'd stop by.'

'Passing through, huh?' My husband inspected him warily.

Mark grinned broadly. 'I had to see a man about a horse.'

Some of my coffee found its way up into my nose. 'That was probably Rivercracker,' I murmured, sounding a little strangled.

'I'm sorry, I don-'

'Five time Derby winner,' John said, 'back in the day.' He looked across at me and turned one corner of his mouth up into a smile.

Mark looked between us, possibly with questions in mind that he did not voice aloud. He leant forward, still keeping a pleasant smile, but his voice was low and serious. 'Have you made any headway?'

'We're waiting for a call.'

'I, uh, I'm sure that I don't need to tell you how important-'

'No, you don't need to tell me. But apart from going down there in the middle of the night and busting Jack out, there's nothing much else we can do.'

The smile evolved from pleasant to placating - and if Mark really had known John as well as he claimed, he ought to have known that that was a mistake. 'I can see that you're touchy-'

'Touchy doesn't begin to cover it.'

'I say, are you ever going to let me finish a sentence?'

'Not if I can help it.'

I cleared my throat. Out of the corner of my eye I had seen movement, fast approaching, and on closer inspection it proved to be Ruben: bright-eyed and eager. He stopped at our table and beamed at me. 'Señora.' Mark received an appraising stare before Ruben turned to John and his beaming smile spread wider. John doesn't try to draw people into his orbit, but it happens; I doubt that he is even aware of it. People want to be where he is; he is one of only two people I have ever known who can change the atmosphere of a room simply by walking into it.

'Señor, there is a telephone call for you; an important telephone call; señor, it is the American ambassador.'

John took in a breath, looked across the table at me. 'This could be it.'

The two of them walked across the terrace, Ruben falling in beside John and adopting the same easy, military stride. I sat back in my chair; Mark fidgeted in his.

'This, uh... This must be rather tiresome for you, Mrs Sheridan.'

'What must?'

'This is your honeymoon, after all - I imagine you're feeling a little resentful.' There was silence and he looked at me. 'Most women would be by now.'

'Mr Cole, we do not know one another, so I'll try to explain this: I make it a point not to make assumptions about people; I even try not to make assumptions about you; I would appreciate it if you would extend to me the same courtesy.'

His eyes were very light and very clear, a contrast to the dark hair slicked back from his forehead; he was very pleasant, very polite, very charming, but there were shutters behind those clear eyes.

'You're quite right, I am sorry.' He studied me again. 'But you don't want to ask me anything? John and I do go back quite a bit, after all.'

'I assume that if there is something that John wishes me to know, he'll tell me; anything else is really none of my business.'

There was a faint movement around his eyes, too slight to be called a widening but it was there. And then there was another movement, a hand taking hold of the chair the John had vacated.

'Mrs Sheridan?'

I started, blinked up at a face wearing a wide and insincere smile - the sort that comes with cheap haircuts and nasty minds.

'Yes?'

'Warren, Ward Warren, the _Havana Post_ - could I have a word?'

'I-'

He sat down; his smile was determined and his teeth set. 'I know your husband is investigating the Sandoval murder and I was wondering what your thoughts are, Mrs Sheridan.' His eyes slipped sideways and fixed on Mark. 'Can I get your friend's name?'

I looked at the interloper, frowning. 'I'm sorry, Mister...'

'Warren, Ward Warren.'

'Mr Warren, I have nothing to say.'

His lips twitched and there really was something nasty in his face then, a hard look. Vicious. 'Is that a fact? See, here you are, the new bride, having a cosy breakfast with another man while your husband is off investigating a case to save his friend from a murder rap - are you sure you don't want to make a comment? Y'know, good press can be a real valuable asset.'

'Now look here-'

'There is no comment to make,' I said clearly, raising my voice over Mark's.

He sighed. 'Mrs Sheridan-'

There was a low rumble from nearby; we all looked up and there was John looking back down at Mr Ward Warren of the _Havana Post_. And all of that barely-contained energy was fizzing.

'What was it I said yesterday that wasn't clear?'

Mr Warren's face had lost some of its colour; he began to ease out of the chair, his body keeping to a low crouch. 'I, uh, I was just-'

'I know I was speaking English when I told you to stay away from my wife, but I am more than happy to repeat it.'

There was a sudden scuttle, sideways like a crab, and Mr Warren was on his feet, keeping the width of the table between him and John. 'I was just on my way.'

'Oh, were you?' John's lips drew back from his teeth. 'Let me help you with that.'

I can't tell you quite how it happened: one moment they were opposite one another, the next John had Warren by his coat-collar. An abortive attempt on the journalist's part at a kick at my husband's shins rewarded him with a neat punch on the nose; his eyes crossed. Warren's feet scuffled at the ground while he tried to keep his balance. It did not help. They reached the heavy stone balustrade, John heaved him up and-

There was a very loud splash.

John turned back, complacent, and brushed off his hands.

'Well,' I said, 'I hope you're satisfied. He is still going to write that story, you know; and the inevitable end result might be slightly less unflattering had you not just thrown him over a wall into a swimming pool.'

He inclined his head. 'You're right, that was a mistake - I didn't know there was a pool down there.'

_TBC_


	9. Chapter 9

**ooOoo**

**9**

**ooOoo**

On the telephone Ryland was just as unctuous as he had been in person; so much oil dripped off his voice you could have collected it and used it to keep your car engine running.

The news, however, was good: Jack's bail was set and all we had to do was pay it - and I had to vouch for the fact that he wouldn't take a powder the second he got his first whiff of freedom.

I hung up, left the booth and found Ruben still loitering - with intent or not I couldn't say; he looked at me and looked as though he would have wagged his tail if he'd had one. He reminded of a kid I used to know, Davy Corwin. A wide-eyed youngster who'd never made it out his home state, much less the country, before he ended up in my squadron halfway around the world. I heard from Davy when I got back to the States: he was in New York and needed my help. So I went and that was the last time I saw him face-to-face, and he was staring up at me from a slab in the morgue. He hadn't looked young and bright then, just empty.

'It is good news, señor? Your friend, he will be released?'

I shook it off and narrowed my eyes at Ruben. 'Is there anyone around here who doesn't know all my business?'

Ruben grinned. 'I have a cousin who is a policeman.'

'Ah.'

His grin slipped some; he glanced out at the terrace and frowned. 'The man who is at your table... He was there yesterday also; he spilt the coffee on the señora.'

'Uh-huh.'

'I have seen this man before, here in the hotel; he is not a guest here but I have seen him; I do not know why he comes, but also he is at the harbour - very often - but he hires no boat, he does not fish.' Ruben's eyes slid towards me, sly. 'I also have a cousin who works on a fishing boat.'

I squinted at him, eyes narrow. 'His name isn't Ibrahim, is it?'

'Ibrahim?' He shook his head. 'No, his name is Francisco. This man, he says his name is Arthur King.' Ruben thought about this. 'I do not think that this is his real name.'

'I think you might be on to something there, buddy.'

Arthur King? Mark was about as subtle as one of Mike Garibaldi's neckties.

'You want for me to watch this man, señor?' He looked so enthusiastic I couldn't quite bring myself to let him down.

'I don't want you to get yourself into any trouble on my account.'

'It is no trouble. Always, I read the detective stories; when I was young I want to be detective like Sam Spade - now, maybe, I can be detective? I can learn from you.'

I clapped him on the shoulder. 'You're a good kid, Ruben - but I'm still learning this stuff myself. If I need any help, and I might , I'll come ask you, okay?'

He showed me all his teeth in a grin. 'Okay.'

We reached the terrace again and I spotted another bird who had muscled in on breakfast - Ward Warren, who obviously had trouble with understanding basic English. I'd felt antsy all morning and was pretty much looking to blow off steam anyway I could. And Warren was as good a way as any.

ooOoo

They fished Warren out of the pool; he sat on the side with his two black eyes, shivering, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. The manager was outraged. I told him that I was pretty outraged having some two-bit newshound harassing me, my wife, and my friend. I was feeling generous to Mark at the time.

But Mark was a hell of a lot harder to shake than my chipmunk friend and he insisted on going with us down into Old Havana to collect Jack. He didn't go into the station - I figured maybe he was worried they wouldn't let him back out again - but hung about nearby, waiting for us. I thought about asking if there was a back exit we could use but then thought maybe it was best not to push it.

Captain Estevez did not look like we were making his day by being there. We were shown into his quiet office and he stood behind his desk, his papers arranged, his fingers drumming against each other.

'So.' He looked at me. 'Señor Maynard will be released.'

'Yes. Thank-you.'

'Do not thank me; this is not my choice. For us, he is still a suspect. But' -his lips curled -'he is American. And it would seem that you are like other Americans after all.'

'This isn't how I wanted this to play out; under other circumstances it wouldn't have. I'm sorry about that.'

He shrugged. 'Words, señor, are easy.' His pale eyes got put on Della and he softened up some. 'Forgive me, señora, please sit down; you will be more comfortable.'

'Thank-you.' She sat, smoothing her skirt over her knees. 'This murder must be giving you a great deal of trouble, Captain.'

Estevez nodded gravely. 'It is, uh, how do you put it ... trying? Yes, this business is trying.'

I stood behind Della's chair, rested one hand on the back of it and waited for them to finish. The captain looked tired: that worn, nervy look that people get when they're being ridden hard by the people higher up - the people who don't have to do all the work, just take all the kick-backs. Having me sticking my nose into the middle of it wasn't making it any better; he seemed the type who could be tough but didn't want to unless he had to be. Right now it looked like he was trying to decide whether or not he had to be and just how much it would take out of him in the event.

'Captain' -he looked at me, definitely not softly- 'I know it's asking for a lot, but I was hoping for a favour.'

His eyebrows went up. 'A favour? Why do you not speak to the people you spoke to yesterday? They seem able to get you anything you want.'

There was silence, the sort that hurts your ears.

'I'd like to take a look at the personal effects Alejandro Sandoval had on him, if I may.'

Estevez opened his mouth, closed it, blinked at me, then opened his mouth again. 'For what do you want this?'

'I ... don't really know. I thought that maybe there would be something... I don't know. Like I said, Jack Maynard is a friend and I'd like to help him.'

'Yes. You said many things, señor.'

'And words are easy, yes, I know.'

We looked at each other, then he looked at Della again. He raised his hands an inch off his desk and let them fall back. 'Very well.'

He picked up the telephone on his desk, spoke into, quiet and not too fast. We waited. I tried not to pace all over his office; Della took out a cigarette and Estevez leant across his desk to light it for her; she accepted graciously and with a smile that almost paralysed him; there was a slight tremor in his hand when he held the flame.

A heavy-set man with slow steps and patient eyes brought in the paper bag that contained all that Alejandro Sandoval had had with him. He stood in the corner, not paying us any mind, while Estevez pulled out each item and let me look at them.

A gold watch, old; a fountain pen, almost new; a pair of cheaters, one lens cracked; a torn-off scrap of paper, smooth and unlined; a handkerchief, silk.

Not much to show for a life, but when you're dead I don't suppose it matters much to you anymore.

Estevez watched me throughout, and he must have been pretty disappointed if he was expecting me to get excited about any of it; I knew about as much as I had before, which was nothing.

'Are there any other favours, señor?'

'No. No, thank-you, Captain.'

ooOoo

We collected Jack from the same patient, heavy man who had delivered the paper bag. Under Captain Estevez's careful gaze we signed all the forms we had to, and Jack made his promise not to leave the jurisdiction.

'You look like hell,' I told him when we got outside.

'I feel it, too. They're not too big on showers in there, either - you might want to stand downwind.' He said the last to Della. She had one arm hooked through mine and hooked her other one through Jack's. He grinned at her and patted her hand.

'How's Rex?' I asked.

'He hooked up with a Mrs Rex, I think; they're probably busy making lots of little Rexes.'

'Who is Rex?'

'You don't want to know, baby.'

We'd hit the streets for all of thirty seconds before something moved, just visible out of the corner of my eye. 'We've got incoming - ten o'clock.'

Mark eased over, just a guy ambling along who happened to meet some people he knew. It was a nice day for it, after all; no reason why he shouldn't.

'You haven't been followed,' he said, low.

'Did you think we would have been?' Della sounded amused.

'It is possible.'

'Oh...' Her smile faltered; her head moved slightly like she was trying hard not to look around.

'Hey, lay off.'

Mark was all innocence. 'It was a perfectly valid-'

'Why don't you both lay off?' Jack stretched out one shoulder and scratched his ear. 'Y'know, some of us could use a drink. Some of us could use a few drinks, at that, and a two-inch steak.'

I looked at him over Della's head. 'And you know just the place.'

He grinned. 'You know me.'

As it was, we also knew the place. It was downtime at Club Estrellita but that didn't stop Jack from waltzing us in there. The band was rehearsing, quiet half-hearted rhythms that needed an audience and the night-time to bring them alive. Luis hauled himself up from a table and crowed; he was pleased; the police were fools and lazy and cheap; he was happy his friend had been released - but maybe his friend should get out of Havana while he could.

We were put at a table, Luis built us some drinks and gave Jack some feed. Jack kept scratching his ribs emphatically, then his shoulder, then his leg - he'd probably got a bad case of fleas after a few days in the cooler.

'Brother, did I need that...' He wiped his fingers on a napkin, threw it down; his eyes stayed down, fixed on a square inch of crumb-covered table-top. 'You went to Los Cipreses?'

'Yesterday. It was a short visit.'

'What did you tell them?'

'The truth, eventually.'

Jack raised his eyes and one half his face got twisted into a smile that was wearier than any smile should be. 'Beginner's mistake.'

'Probably.'

'We saw Rosa,' Della said. 'She... She was all right; she's worried about you.'

He went back to his patch of table and nodded. 'Thanks. Thank-you.'

I lit a cigarette and drank the smoke; it felt like the first cigarette I'd had for a long time. 'It'll be okay.' I don't know that I sounded anymore confident than I felt; I hope so. But I saw Jack's lips twitch.

'Yeah.'

Mark had been pretty quiet - almost enough to make us forget that he was there, but not quite - and that usually only happens when he wants something. His fingers tapped lightly against the side of his glass, more or less in time with the band. 'Murder notwithstanding...' He looked at Jack. 'We really need to make that contact.'

'I know; I got sprung just in time.' Jack grinned, pulling his lips back from his teeth. His eyes were still dull. 'If they're still on the same schedule, my guy should be on for tonight. I'll make a call.'

He wandered over to Luis and then over to the bar; there was a telephone on the wall beside it, old and battered and not the place you'd choose for a private conversation. But folks at Club Estrellita probably made it their business not to stick their noses into anyone else's - you were probably safer making a call from there than from your own home. He came back after a couple of minutes.

'I left a message; he'll call me back here. I got Luis to build us another round.' He grinned again and looked more like himself. 'Hey, we got to have something to do.'

ooOoo

From somewhere under the bar, Luis had unearthed a deck of cards. Just shuffling them made the air eighty percent proof. We played a few hands and by the end of them I owed Della ninety-four Martinis. She'd spent most of the time trying to crack the case, starting with drawing up a list of suspects but that just made her depressed. Suspects were pretty thin on the ground and one of them was sitting at the table. I had an idea of her running all around Havana, grilling plug-uglies; the thought of it made my hair stand on end. Then she got started on the clues - her name for the contents of Sandoval's pockets.

'Do you think it means anything that one of the lenses of his spectacles was cracked?'

'Yes, I think it means that he fell on them when he was killed.'

'Oh. Oh, yes, of course. What about the paper? Or perhaps it is a little far-fetched to imagine that there's a message on it in invisible ink. Mind you, there are spies involved in all this...' She gave Mark a hard, sideways glance.

'Hey, Samantha Spade, knock it off will you?'

Della pursed her lips. 'I'd rather it were Philippa Marlowe.' Off a look she widened her eyes at me. 'Well, I prefer Raymond Chandler to Dashiell Hammett.'

'Leave the grouch, Phil.' Jack leant towards Della and his eyes twinkled at her. 'C'mon, if you can stand the smell, so can I - let's dance.'

She took his hand and they took the five steps to the dance floor. The band picked themselves up - they even started sounding halfway decent.

I watched Della with Jack for a moment, tripping over each other's feet. She's a good dancer and so is he but they were both laughing too much for it to show. Della is a different person when she laughs: all of that seriousness vanishes; sometimes I think that that's when you see who she really is. I'd promised her - or at least promised myself - that I'd make her happy. So far I'd landed her in the middle of a murder and then finished it off with a little light espionage. I thought about all the promises I'd made in my life, and the number of them that I hadn't been able to keep. I'd promised Corwin I'd always look out for him; I'd promised Anna I'd come back to her after the war. There were a lot of promises I'd made Anna. Della wasn't laughing anymore but she was still smiling, her head tilted forward, the dark wave of her hair following the curve of her throat. She would be happy. It would be different this time. It had to be.

'Sorry, what?'

Mark was leaning forward; he'd something I hadn't caught; he was looking at me hard, it almost resembled concern. 'Are you all right?'

'Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine.'

'Right...'

I ran a hand across my face. 'Look, Mark, what you're doing down here, whoever it is exactly that you're working for, it's the right thing. I know that. And I know that you can't tell us everything, but if there is anything, _anything_, that you're holding out on that we need to know... Just tell me, please.'

'You don't think all that much of me, do you?'

There was a breath I was holding that I hadn't known about; I blew it out. 'No, you're okay. You remind me of a couple of things I'd sooner forget - that's not your fault. And it's just all of ... this. The sneaking around, all the seedy little people and their seedy little lives. I've never liked it.'

'You're a private investigator' -he smiled lightly '-don't you deal with that sort of thing quite a lot?'

'We get to choose the cases; and they don't usually involve gun-running and G-Men.'

He laughed. 'Do you know, I've always enjoyed the colourful American vernacular.'

'Oh well, I'm so pleased you're pleased.'

His hands rested on the table, palm-down, one on top of the other. 'I can't tell you anymore than I have. And I don't mean that because I have orders, I mean it because there is nothing more I can tell you. Nothing more in Havana, at least - there are other people involved, naturally, at different stages, but they have their jobs to do just as I have mine. This is it, I'm afraid.'

'You know something? I actually believe you.'

'Good God - could I get that in writing?'

'Don't push it.'

Mark leaned back in his chair, with one of his more infuriating smiles.

_TBC_


	10. Chapter 10

**ooOoo**

**10**

**ooOoo**

'So, how's he been treating you?'

'John? Very well.'

'Good. But if he gives you any trouble, you let me know - I'll sort him out for you.'

I laughed. 'Thank-you; I'll bear that in mind.'

Jack steered me expertly around the floor: he didn't hold me so tightly that breathing became problematic, nor was his grip loose so that I was left flailing. He was clearly accustomed to handling women.

'I've never danced in a night-club in the middle of the day before,' I said after a while.

'You haven't? I thought you said John was treating you right - what the hell has he been doing?'

'It's been less than a month, give him time.'

'Yeah, well, that's not much of an excuse. You got to keep 'em on their toes, see?'

'Keep who?'

'Men. I am one, I know what I'm talking about.'

He spun me out and back in again at a dizzying speed; I was starting to feel a little like Ginger Rogers, only rather less graceful. Jack looked down at me, thoughtful.

'He's a good guy.'

'I think so.'

'No, I mean it. Biggest heart of anyone I've ever known, and brains too.' He paused. 'You should get him out of here.'

My feet had a disagreement about which direction to go. 'What?'

'I mean it. The both of you - pack up, go back to New York. Forget all of this.'

We rotated on one spot; I stared at Jack and his slightly weathered face and his warm, mischievous eyes. 'And what about you?'

He shrugged. 'Look, I never meant for anyone to get involved in all this; it's a messy business and it's going to get messier. But that was my choice.'

'And you believe that John has not chosen?'

'I figure he's doing what he does, even when he doesn't know it: trying to set the world to rights. I don't mean he's a sap, I just mean...'

'I know.'

Jack released a breath slowly. We took a few more steps.

'You flatter me, though. I don't have enough influence over John to take him away from this, I doubt that anyone does. To be honest, I wouldn't want that much power over anyone - or vice versa, come to that. It isn't how things ought to be.'

'Can't you work some feminine wiles, just this once?'

I smiled. 'Didn't you just say that John isn't a sap? If I tried anything like that he'd see through it in ten seconds flat; and it would be insulting both of us if I did.'

His fingers were still linked through mine and he squeezed my hand slightly. 'You know, you two are pretty alike? You both see the world and you both see how it could be - and both of you think that the damn great gulf in between can be bridged.'

'You have to think that, don't you? After the world nearly destroyed itself, after we ripped each other to pieces... You have to believe that it can change, that things like that can't happen again.' I rested my forehead against his shoulder for a moment, then looked back up at him. 'You're forgetting one thing in this request of yours, by the way.'

'Oh?'

'Yes: me. I'm no more willing to leave you here, thrown to the wolves, than John is.'

Over the sound of the band's raw melody and our shuffling feet Luis called Jack's name. He was standing by the bar, the telephone receiver in one great hand and the other beckoning furiously. The gold in his tooth caught the light and glinted.

Jack released his hold around my waist. 'Phil, you are a true class act.' He raised my hand to his lips, kissed it, and we parted.

Both John and Mark proved they were gentlemen, standing as I returned to our small table. There was a look deep behind John's eyes, a fleeting intensity quickly hidden.

'Your feet still intact?' He smiled at me; remnants of sleeplessness clung to his face but he carried himself, as he always did, like the soldier he had once been. I smiled back.

'Just about - I can't vouch for Jack's.'

He was still over at the bar, leaning against the little wooden shelf beneath the phone. He hung up, nodded to Luis, and crossed back to us.

'It's still on for tonight.'

'And?' Mark's face was guarded - his was not the only one. The atmosphere had altered subtly. All three men had a sudden hardness, a lean toughness that was probably always there but not always seen.

'Down at the docks, the warehouse district. He'll be there late, sometime after midnight - that's the best I could get out of him. We'll just have to head down there and wait.'

'Will you be down there?' John asked; Mark nodded. 'Three-man crew. Just like the old days, isn't it?'

'You've got no part in this, Johnny.' Jack looked at him. He already knew it was hopeless.

'I already am a part of this.'

'It's all very well saying a three-man crew, but where do I fit into this? I've been just as much a part of everything as you have, you can't leave me behind now.'

John stared at me, his mouth slightly open - not his best look. 'You... You don't have any training for this sort of work.'

'Sitting in the dark keeping a look-out - how hard can that be?'

Various emotions warred across his face; silent seconds stretched out.

Mark's eyes flicked between us. 'You're not really thinking of letting her come with us?'

I felt a little resentful of the incredulity of his tone.

There was a strange noise at the back of John's throat. 'Buddy, nobody lets Della do anything, she does what she wants.' He turned to me, all melting gazes and sincerity. 'But I am asking, very respectfully, that you stay at the hotel.'

'You louse,' I said. 'That's playing dirty and you know it. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't go with you.'

'Baby, if we get ourselves arrested someone will have to post bail.'

I sighed. 'Fine then, go. Go on. Go right ahead, get yourself killed, see if I care. Only I think it's a mean trick of you to bring me all this way just to make a widow of me; if you'd felt that way about it we could have stopped off at Reno on the way back from Las Vegas and ended it right there.' He made a face at me; I made one back. 'Well, what am I supposed to do while you're at the docks, anyway?'

'You could always stay here and drink your winnings.'

ooOoo

The argument did not end there: it continued all the way back to the hotel and for some time once we had arrived there. In the end I had to concede defeat - a position to which I am not accustomed.

Their rendezvous had been arranged for midnight and most of the hours preceding it had an empty, listless feel. Most, but not all. I had fallen asleep and woke to a room in darkness and the faint sound of someone moving around. I lay very still and watched him: moonlight half-dimmed by cloud picked out the curve of his head and the dark gleam of his hair; his shirt rustled softly as it fell into place, then the chink of cufflinks. He moved deeper into the shadows and I lost him, not even the light pad of footfalls on the carpet. Had I believed in ghosts I would have thought him an apparition: my benevolent incubus.

'You can stop pretending.' John's voice came from across the room.

I sat up. 'How did you know I was awake?'

He laughed softly. 'Because I know what you sound like when you're asleep.'

'Oh.' I fumbled for the light switch, blinked against the lamp's sudden glare. John was pulling on his jacket, its dark colour sombre against the pale walls. He came back to me, that light, stalking walk he had sometimes.

'John... You will be careful, won't you?'

He smiled and tucked my hair behind my ear. 'Don't fuss, plaything.'

I glared at him.

'That is not the look of love,' he told me.

'And that's not answering me.'

His hand rested against my neck, a warm solid presence. 'Yes, I'll be careful.'

'You might say it as though you meant it!'

He kissed me and kept on kissing me until I kissed him back. I ran my fingers along his cheek and felt his breath against my lips.

'Promise me.'

His eyes darkened, deepened; he took hold of my hand, pressed the tips of my fingers against his lips one-by-one. 'I promise, my love.'

And he left me, still walking softly; when the door closed behind him I barely heard the lock click.

_TBC_


	11. Chapter 11

**ooOoo**

**11**

**ooOoo**

One way or another I've done some difficult things in my time. Walking out of that suite, leaving Della behind with her eyes still deep and serious, and the scent of night jasmine on the air ... that was about one of the hardest things I've ever done. I thought about grabbing her and running and not stopping until we were somewhere very far away. I thought about keeping her away from everyone and everything, and how much she would hate that, and about how that would kill everything in her that I loved.

Neither of us had been created to walk away, not from the things that mattered. But I walked away down that over-furnished corridor in the expensive hotel, but somehow that was okay because I would always be walking back.

Jack and Mark were both already down on the water when I got there. The _Amapola_ was a dark mass floating on black liquid; there was a moon that night, only showing now and then through the high skin of cloud. I stepped onto the deck and two pairs of eyes glittered at me.

'Would a light really kill us?' I asked.

'Just waiting for you, buddy,' Jack answered softly. 'Nice of you to stop by.'

'I was in the neighbourhood.'

He lit an oil lamp, turning up the flame just enough to cast a small pool of light. The _Amapola_'s new temporary home was a step down from her usual berth - a spot along the docks by the warehouses, away from the more upscale marina. Three guys on a boat were less conspicuous than just three guys sitting around. Or so they tell me.

'How's Phil?'

I grimaced and worked out the odds on Jack dropping that pet-name - knowing him as I did I figured it wouldn't happen anytime soon. They'd adopted each other - they're both the type to do that. 'She's fine.'

'She's a swell kid.'

'I hear that.'

'I thought she might have come along anyhow. What did you do, lock her in a cupboard?'

'Yes, but don't worry - I left her with a supply of water and some crackers. She'll make it 'til morning.'

Mark was watching us, quiet and half-smiling. 'She's a very impressive lady - Mrs Sheridan, I mean.'

'You better not be getting any ideas.' Jack peered at him.

'Certainly not! I mean, not that she isn't- I just mean to say, she's very- I wasn't trying-'

I showed him my teeth. 'Relax, brother. Impressive ... that's one word. And she likes you, too.'

'Oh, does she?' He sounded pleased.

Della has a way of making people like her; she doesn't try, it just happens. Because she doesn't try is probably why it does. And when she likes them back it means a lot, both to them and to her.

We got ourselves arranged without making too big a deal of it; the boat wasn't all that big and between the three of us we could cover the whole area along that stretch of waterfront. It was quiet. After a while noises started to filter through: a dog barking, probably tied up keeping guard in one of the lots; a thin high tuneless whistle of a vagabond or some such poking around for anything left behind that might prove useful; the regular slap of water against the hull and the scrape of wood against stone as the boat bobbed on the gentle swells. Behind us, further out, lights were still showing on the water: a little night-fishing for some and others probably yachts that still had their good times going. Havana was a party town. There was no reason why it shouldn't spill out further.

Mark moved slightly and I tensed, that old feeling of every muscle suddenly being coiled. 'It looks like we might have a customer,' he said softly.

Someone was moving further down the docklands, slipping in and out of the shadows. We waited. My hands balled loosely, involuntarily. I heard Jack breathe out.

'Looks like someone's got a customer,' he said.

The someone was two someones, wrapped around each other so tight you couldn't see where one left off and the other began. The guy could just about get one foot in front of the other but he was going where he was being led; the girl was cheap and gaudy and doing all the leading. Her high-pitched chirp floated back on the air. He was quite a guy, she told him, just what she'd been looking for, she'd been waiting for him forever, she'd take care of him. He'd be lucky if he woke up with the clothes he stood up in, never mind his wallet and anything else he had on him. We watched until they lurched into the darkness on the far side of a low brick building and the girl's chirrups faded. I relaxed again and tried to talk my pulse into settling back into something resembling a normal rhythm.

The silence and the night noises came pouring back in again. The dog had given up barking and had taken up howling. It was having a swell time. And then there was another sound, faint and close-by. I thought it was Jack at first but the low whistle was a little further off. Mark.

'What the hell is that?'

He broke off, flashed his teeth at me. 'Gilbert and Sullivan, old boy. "I am the very model of a modern major-general-" '

'You're going to be the very model of a modern major corpse if you don't knock it off.'

He was quiet for approximately six seconds.

'Anyone fancy a game of I Spy?'

ooOoo

About half-an-hour later my legs were damn near screaming to be stretched; I had to stop myself drumming my fingers against the wood of the deck - the noise would have driven me crazy never mind anybody else. 'This is the part I hate,' I said, 'the waiting. I really hate it.'

'Best not to think about it.' Mark was level and detached.

'He's right. Don't think about it, don't talk about it. Talk about something else.'

I took a pull on my cigarette. 'Like what?'

'I dunno. Something. Anything. Talk about women.' Jack blew out a long breath. 'Damn, I love women. The classy types that turn up their haughty noses at you but have that come-hither look in their eyes; the friendly types who know what it's all about and don't mind sharing it ... I love them all. Especially when they're getting themselves all dolled up to go someplace. All that soft skin and perfumed hair. And breasts... Soft, pillowy breasts and narrow little waists...'

I didn't want to, I tried hard not to, but for those moments all I could think about was Della and the way I'd left her back at the hotel: warm and naked in bed.

'Jack, I'm asking you as nicely as I know how - shut the hell up.'

He sniggered; if he hadn't been such a great pal I would have slugged him. 'Sorry, buddy.'

'Skip it.' I flicked the butt over the side, watched the orange glow extinguish in the inky black water.

'That's a very large section of conversational topics ruled out, then.' Mark always manages to sound bright and cheerful, even in situations that do not call for brightness and cheer. In fact, usually when they call for the opposite.

'We could always talk about the weather,' Jack told him.

'Oh, ha-bloody-ha.'

'Okay,' I said, 'I've got one for you: you don't actually go by the name Arthur King, do you?'

A spluttering sound came from Jack's side of the boat. 'Say what?'

'Arthur King,' I repeated. 'I had it from a source that that's his _nom de guerre_. Mark, please, say it ain't so.'

'Actually, it is.' He sounded mighty pleased with himself, too. 'It's catchy, easy to remember...'

'I thought that one of the points of guys like you is that people aren't supposed to remember you, or notice you.'

'Oh, in certain circumstances most definitely. But there are any number of occasions when, uh, remembering is exactly what you want the chap to do. I was quite partial to Galahad, truth be told - the truest, most perfect of all knights-errant - but I thought that might be stretching things a bit.'

'Oh, only a bit.'

'One could get away with Lancelot, I suppose...' he continued. I tried not to listen but Mark has a way of insinuating himself. 'Lance, for short. But I did always think he was something of a cad and I don't really want to associate myself with that sort of behaviour. Another chap's wife is another chap's wife and that's the end of it, no matter how much- Arthur King has just the right note of nobility, don't you think? And, do you know, I've used that name all around America and it is astonishing how many people simply do not catch the reference. It's disillusioned me about the colonies, it really has.'

'It's disillusioned you about the what?'

'Colonies, old boy, colonies. We did used to own you, after all.'

'Yeah, _used_ to, fly-boy,' Jack said. 'And if I'd been around back in the day, I'd have been first in line pouring tea into the harbour.'

'Bloody waste that was.'

'What is the deal with tea anyhow?' Jack asked. 'It tastes like you've soaked cardboard in hot water for five minutes and then drink what's left over.'

We'd had pretty much this same conversation all those years back, first in that pub in England and then again in France. Knowing my luck, we'd probably be having it all over again in ten years time on another stakeout.

'You Americans have no subtlety, that's your problem. Your idea of nuance is akin to being hit in the head with a cricket bat.'

'Okay, that's another one: cricket. The damn game can go on for five days and still not have a result. You talk about bowling a maiden over but there isn't a doll anywhere near the field.'

'It's called a pitch. And cricket is what separates the civilised from the barbarians.'

'Listen, brother, baseball - now _that's_ a game. It takes less than a day. Dizzy Dean, Babe Ruth - you get your hot-dog, you-'

'Jack.'

'Yeah?'

'Do you have a gun on board?' I asked.

'Sure. Why?'

'Because of you start singing _Take Me Out to the Ball-game_, I'm going to get it and shoot you between the eyes.'

He sniggered and then said, 'Hey, remember Baseball Bat Bill?'

I laughed. 'Damn, that's a name that takes me back. He still around?'

'He is that. Last I heard he was running a feed store in Minnesota. Or somewhere.' Jack leaned back, crossed one boot over the other.

'Good at batting, was he?' Mark's voice enquired; his pale eyes gleamed silver in the low light.

'Huh?' Jack squinted at him.

'Baseball Bat Bill - he was good at your national sport, presumably.'

Jack was silent for a moment, his mouth hanging open, then he laughed. 'No. Hell, no! Ball Bat Bill couldn't hit a pitch if you threw it underarm from two inches away from his nose.'

'Ah. I see. An ironic nickname.'

The light from the little oil lamp bounced off Jack's teeth; if he grinned any wider his face might have split in two for good. 'No, no, buddy... Listen. Ball Bat got called that because... Let's just say that nature had been very generous to that man. If you ever caught sight of him in the showers...' He let out a whistle. 'Man, give you a complex, wouldn't it, Johnny?'

'Speak for yourself.'

'Nuts to that. Anyhow, nature had been a little _too_ generous to Ball Bat. Couldn't get a girl, see? Put them off. He was damn near the most frustrated guy I ever met and I couldn't say that I blamed him. Anyway - this was while we were stationed on your home turf, did I mention that? No? Huh. _Anyway_, we decided to help him out a little-'

I cleared my throat. Jack rolled his eyes.

'Okay, okay, I decided to help him out a little. Got him set up with a girl - cute little thing. I can still see her: dark curls, big blue eyes, little black beret...'

'I take it that your chum was, uh, appreciative,' Mark said.

'Oh, he was appreciative all right. But when it came to it and they were getting themselves set, well, the girl got him stripped off, took one look and said, "Honey, I don't keep that much meat in my icebox!" And left! She wouldn't touch him.'

'Poor chap.'

'Nah, don't feel too bad. He got himself a girl down in, uh, Brighton who knew how to handle him. But that's you Brits all over - you guys can deal with any invasion.'

'Ah. Yes. Quite.' He was sitting on the edge of the pool of light so when Mark moved I heard him more than saw him - not that he made much noise at all. A cat tip-toeing is probably louder. 'Uh, John. Speaking of women...'

I swore under my breath. 'Yes?'

'Does, uh, Susan ever mention-'

'Hold it right there, brother. I never get mixed up in other people's love-lives. Never. I make it a rule and I've never regretted it.'

'I'm not asking you to get involved. Far from it. I was just wondering if she ever, you know, drops my name into the conversation. If she might happen to mention in passing what a fine, handsome chap that Mark Cole is and she could just see herself wandering down the aisle with him some blessed day.'

I shifted in my position wedged against the side of the boat. Uncomfortable wasn't the word. 'Susan is a very private person, Mark, she doesn't discuss her personal life. And if she did it wouldn't be with me; it would be, I dunno, with a girlfriend, probably. And before you ask, no I don't who they would be.'

When it comes to Susan Ivanova I think that Mark's philosophy is 'God loves a tryer.' On the evidence of his success rate so far, God doesn't.

'Mind if the third wheel asks a question? Who is this Susan?'

'She works for Mike and I,' I told Jack.

'Ah, got it. Secretary, huh?'

'Nominally. We can't quite get her to settle for that.'

He scratched his chin. 'So, you've got this cute little number working for you, huh? What does Mrs Sheridan think of that?'

I grinned at him. 'They get on just fine. They've gone to the pictures together.'

Jack let out a whistle. 'Your wife is one smart cookie.'

Mark and his one-track mind were still with us. 'I don't suppose that Della-'

'I'd doubt you'd get anything out of her, even if you asked. Which you won't.' I sighed. 'Buddy, why don't you do yourself a favour and forget about it?'

He was moving again, still quietly. 'I've just always thought that Susan is the sort of girl that any man would be honoured to have as his wife.'

'Yeah, probably she is. But how many times has she turned you down now? Ten? Eleven?'

'Something like that,' he said, bright as ever. 'That means we're coming up to the first anniversary of her first refusal.'

I sighed again, ran a hand over my head. 'See, that's exactly what I'm talking about. Okay, you feel something for her but if she doesn't... You can't keep on doing that to her; you can't keep doing it to yourself.'

'You know what they say: faint heart never won fair lady.'

It was pointless. Mark had himself locked in tight and no-one could have got him out of there. It had never been something that I'd been able to understand: that insistence; hammering away at someone until they felt the way you wanted them to feel, or the way you thought they should feel. But Susan could look after herself and she had her family in any case; it was none of my business, and what the hell did I know, anyway?

ooOoo

The air was heavier. The cloud had thickened, blocking out the moon and holding in the heat. There was thunder again, rolling around in the distance and every now and then a fork of lightening touched base on the horizon. My shirt was sticking to me and a dull ache had started behind my eyes. Not for the first time in the last few days I thought that I needed my head examined; at this rate I'd be lucky if my honeymoon didn't end in a divorce.

I stretched out one leg and tried to coax my foot to wake up again.

'Your guy always keep you waiting this long?'

Jack's shoulders moved fractionally, up and back down again. 'It varies.'

The lights across the water had gone out. Everything had gone very quiet, even the dog was silent finally. Nerves were stretched out tight as piano wire - although, if anyone had tried playing a tune on us, what probably would have come out is _Three Blind Mice._

'There.'

It was Mark's voice. He has good eyes, I'll say that.

Further along the docks there was a light, a small beam like a torch. It flickered on and off, on and off. Intermittent, it seemed, at random, until you watched it and then it was a repeating pattern.

'That's the signal.' Jack stood up, smooth and swift. He swung himself off the deck, onto the jetty, still with the same ease he'd had back when I'd first washed up under his command. He strode off and the beam of light got a little bigger. The dark shape behind it detached itself from all the other dark shapes, and I could make out a skinny kid in a striped top waiting for Jack to reach him. Even from that distance he looked scared witless. The sleeves of his shirt were too short - a good two inches of wrist stuck out beneath them.

Jack reached them and they faced each other, talking. Voices floated back to us on the still air, too faint for any words. The kid didn't look any less scared; Jack put a hand on his shoulder, talking to him in that way he has like he's a kid's favourite uncle and can make all the bad stuff in the world okay again.

The retort of a gunshot shattered everything.

The two figures hit the deck; back on the _Amapola_, so did we. I coloured the air with a few phrases; after the second shot, not two seconds after the first, I scrambled over the side, onto the jetty, and started running. Feet pounded behind, Mark keeping up.

There was another shot, dirt and chips of wood flying up a couple inches from where Jack had dived for cover. The kid was crawling across the ground, pushed himself up on his hands, his feet scrabbling across the ground.

'Hey, kid!' I grabbed for him - and jumped back when a bullet ripped through the crate beside my head.

'This really is like old times.' Jack was sitting up, his face set in a rictus grin.

'You hurt?'

'Nah. That guy couldn't find his ass with both hands, never mind hit anything. He's a worse shot than you are.'

Mark was crouching behind me, half hidden, half peering out.

'What are you doing, trying to get your nose blown off?' I asked; I sounded strangled.

'He's there,' he said quietly, 'he's up on a fire escape on the side of that warehouse.'

I stuck my head out, looked in the same direction he was. There was a figure, dark, against the flaking metal on one of the gantries. 'Anyone else about?'

'I'm not sure; there might be, it's a bit too dark to tell. Do you think we ought to try a counterattack?'

'Well we can't stay here all night.' I looked at Jack. 'I don't suppose you have that shooter of yours on you?'

He shrugged. 'Benefits of hindsight, huh?'

I looked at Mark.

'I must have left mine in my other jacket.'

It's time like that where if you don't laugh, you'll cry; as it was, I did neither. 'Okay. Normally I'd say cover me, but as we have no cover...'

Jack had his head tilted back. 'How about we keep to the basics: you go thattaway and I'll go thisaway?'

'And where do I go?' Mark asked.

'Any other way,' Jack told him. 'Look, that sonofabitch can't keep us pinned down here all night and if he's got any other playmates around they'll be getting plenty antsy right about now. And people get careless when they're like that.'

Mark showed us his teeth. 'Ah yes, the impatience and stupidity of the enemy - always makes one's job that much easier, doesn't it?'

'Yeah, and it never fails, either,' Jack added.

We peeled out. Our sniper friend had stopped taking pot-shots at us long enough for us to get a good look at him and his position. And he was hoofing it out of there, his feet rattling against the old metal and the metal banging against the wall. He wasn't worried about anyone hearing him - clearly he'd already done what he'd come for. I picked my way through over rough ground that had all the usual detritus of a waste-ground - broken glass, patches of scrubby weeds, bits of material probably torn off during the usual nocturnal transactions. A hell of a place to be in the middle of the night. Fun and games in the Wasteland.

A figure surged out at me from the darkness, big and square, like his bared teeth, but I paid less attention to those than to the knife in his hand. He held it with the blade pointing upwards. This boy knew what he was doing. There are ways of disarming a man with a knife when you've got nothing but your bare hands. For a moment I couldn't remember them; I couldn't remember anything; I was too busy trying to dodge his carving pieces out of my face. He was still grinning at me. He was the one in charge, he had all the aces, he was going to enjoy it. That was his problem right there.

The knife got tossed up and down in his hand; I watched the blade glitter. 'You want to tangle, flaco?'

'I bet you watch all the pictures, huh?' I said wearily. 'Let me guess - big Jimmy Cagney fan.'

He looked delighted. 'Top of the world.'

'Let's see about that.'

He came at me again, all rush and bravado. I ducked down under his raised arm, under the knife, hit the ground and got a good hold of his ankles. I pulled, hard, and he went down, sprawled on the ground and made a confused noise somewhere in his chest. The knife went skittering across the dirt. He started lumbering to his feet but first used one to try and kick me in the face. I dodged it, just, with only slightly less grace than Nijinsky would have used.

I took off after him, along walkways between the big silent hulks of warehouses. They didn't bother with lighting down there; I followed him blind, going by the sound of feet pounding and him swearing each time he stumbled or crashed into the side of a building. It was getting hard to hear over the sound of the tearing in my chest. Round a corner and I followed - and met a wooden crate flying right at me. I ducked again, lost footing and hit the ground, hard. For a moment there was nothing. I tried to breathe and couldn't. I lay in the dirt, mouth gaping like a landed fish, and tried to claw in air.

It came, finally, a rushing, sucking sound. I sat up. Two more dark shapes were charging down at me.

'John?'

'I'm here.' New-born kittens have better lung-power than that.

Jack came panting up; he stopped, bent over with his hands resting on his knees and made noises at me. Mark was behind him, barely out of breath, and watching us.

'Are you all right down there?' he asked.

'Oh yeah. This is how I spend all my nights.'

'Anything broken?'

'Nothing but my pride.' I persuaded myself to stand up and once there I rubbed my shoulder. Jack was leaning against a wall and starting to sound a little more like a human being.

'You two have anymore luck than I did?'

Jack shook his head. 'Nah. They took off before we got to 'em - don't even know how many there were. Looks like you got all the excitement, buddy.' He sounded wistful about that.

'Uh-huh. I get all the luck.'

I stretched out my arms, gingerly, and waited for the tendons in my shoulder to stop screaming at me. 'So. Who were they after - you or your contact?'

Jack shook his head. 'I don't know.'

'Either way it isn't good,' Mark said. 'If they are trying to remove either or both of you, it could mean that your cover has been blown. Havana may not be the safest place for you at the moment.'

'It's not like I can blow, even if I wanted to.'

'No, I suppose not. Damn. This is bloody annoying. Looks like I'll have to start from scratch.'

'I love how you're able to make this about you,' Jack said sourly.

'Ah, skip it, both of you,' I said. I squinted around in the gloom and tried to get a fix on our bearings. 'Anyone know where we are?'

'I'm no expert,' Mark said, 'but I'd say that we're in between a couple of warehouses.'

'I think I do...' Jack was also looking around. He stared at the bit of building behind my head. 'That's Alejandro's.'

'Oh?' Suddenly Mark was all interest. 'Sandoval had a warehouse here?'

'Yeah. Imports, exports... They store it here, I've taken stuff out for him, up to the Keys sometimes.' He shrugged. 'Guess this will be Ignacio's now; he already ran part of the business with his father.'

'What sort of stuff?'

'Huh?'

'What sort of stuff?' I repeated.

Jack's shoulders moved up again dropped. 'Just stuff. Different things. Sometimes cigars, sometimes rum, sometimes dinner plates - it would be whatever it was for whoever he was selling to at the time.'

'Mm.'

We headed back towards the waterfront. It was brighter there, the meagre lighting suddenly dazzling. I looked at Jack and saw the dark sticky red streak across his temple. It was still oozing.

'I thought you said you didn't have any excitement.'

'What, this?' He raised a hand and flashed his teeth at me. 'I walked into a door.'

'You should get someone to look at that.'

His hand waved at me. 'It's fine. A couple of drinks and I'm good as new.' He scratched the back of his neck and ran a hand along his jaw. 'Of course, that's if Estevez's boys left any liquor behind after they finished turning my place over.'

'They did that?'

'Yup. Nice mess they left behind, too.'

'You can have a few drinks back at the hotel, get yourself cleaned up.'

He frowned, glanced at Mark, then back at me. 'Won't, uh, won't Della mind?'

'Mind?' I thought about that, then laughed slightly. 'Brother, if she doesn't get this whole story tonight and first-hand, she'll skin me alive.'

ooOoo

It was some hour well past the witching one by the time we got back to the hotel. We were dishevelled, disgruntled and most certainly dis-slumbered. I left Jack and Mark skulking by a pillar while I went to collect the room-key. Ruben had himself propped up on his elbows at the front desk and beamed when he saw me.

'Good-evening, señor.'

'More like good-morning,' I said.

He grinned wider.

'Quiet here tonight, isn't it?'

The kid sighed. 'Sí, señor. Here it is quiet most nights.'

I leaned against the desk and felt about a million years old. 'You don't like working here much, do you?'

'Oh, it is not so bad. The money is...' He raised a hand, palm down, and tilted it one way then the other. 'That also is not so bad. I have a sister, I have to look after her. But now she has got married, so it is for her husband to care for her; I do not need to stay, so this is the last week I work here.'

'You're leaving?'

His eyes gleamed. 'Oh yes. Next week I start at the Hotel Saratoga in La Habana Vieja.'

'More to your taste there, huh?'

He nodded. 'Most nights they have a big party; and the people that stay there, they are the artists and the big thinkers. They are the good people, like you and the señora. But I hope very much that you have solved the case before I go, señor; I would not want to miss the end of this.'

I grinned back at him. 'Trust me, Ruben, when we crack this thing you'll be the first to know.'

He handed me my key and I collected the other two from their post by the pillar. Jack was squinting around the place and then turned his eyes on me.

'Y'know, when you said you were staying here I pretty much thought you were fooling. How did you swing it?'

'You heard of Ramir Industries?'

'Vaguely. Don't they run half of America?'

'Pretty much.'

'Yeah, and?'

'The big boss is a gal by the name of Della Ramir. Well, Della Ramir as was; she got married recently.'

There was a slackening around Jack's facial muscles that didn't do much for his looks. 'Whoa, you mean Della, _your_ Della-'

'Uh-huh.'

'Did you drug her?'

I glared at him. 'What?'

'Seriously, did you slip something into her drink before running off with her and she's just too polite to do anything about it?'

'You find yourself really amusing, don't you?'

I was presented with Jack's most annoying smile. 'Someone has to.'

The elevator came to a gentle stop and we stepped out onto the corridor. And I started to rethink my earlier claim that Della wouldn't mind my bringing the comedy duo back with me in the middle of the night. I slipped the key into the lock, turning it as close to silently as I could as though that would help somehow. Della would be okay with it. I was almost entirely sure of that. More or less. She'd wanted to be in on this, be a part of it all. But what a woman says and what she actually feels aren't always the same thing.

The sitting-room was in darkness, I flicked on a lamp. It was all cool calm stillness, just the way I'd left it. It felt like coming home. The air held the scent of Della's perfume.

'Make yourselves at home,' I said softly. I crossed to the bedroom door, pushed it open and stepped inside. The drapes were still open and the only light came from the window. It wasn't much. I took a moment while my eyes adjusted. Then I looked around the room, over at the dark mouth of the bathroom door standing open, then back at the bed. It didn't make any difference - Della was still gone.

_TBC_


	12. Chapter 12

**ooOoo**

**12**

**ooOoo**

The telephone started ringing shortly after John left. The lamp on the stand beside the bed was still switched on and I was studying the ceiling. I had thought about reading but I had fallen out with the book I had. Normally I am appreciative of Dorothy L. Sayer's writing but under the circumstances this particular volume was a little too close to the knuckle. John had taken one look at the title and laughed. I consoled myself with the thought that in our case at least the corpse had not been discovered in the basement of our honeymoon home.

I moved across the expanse of cool empty cotton sheets next to me, silencing the telephone's shrill song when I lifted the receiver.

'Hello?'

_'Mrs Sheridan?'_

It was a woman's voice, unfamiliar although I had the impression of having heard it before. She sounded breathless.

'Yes?'

_'This is Rosa Sandoval.'_

'Oh.' I straightened up, any vestiges of sleepiness gone. 'Hello, Miss Sandoval.'

_'Yes, hello. Mrs Sheridan, I must see you. Tonight. I must. It is very important.'_

'I'm afraid my husband isn't here-'

_'I don't want to see your husband. I want to talk to you. You are a woman, you will understand.'_

There was a nervy edge to her voice, something she was trying very hard to control. Its sound was recognisable instantaneously; it was not the first occasion upon which a young woman had got me on the telephone in the middle of the night on the verge of hysteria - this time, at least, the young woman was not a blood relative.

'Miss Sandoval, it is very late-'

_'I know! I know. I am sorry, but I must- I must see you, I must speak with you. And it must be now, tonight.'_

I scrubbed at my eyes. 'Oh, all right. Come on over and-'

_'No! No, I cannot leave the house. Please, you must come to me.'_ There was silence for a moment. _'Please! You-you said you are a friend of Jack's.'_

'Yes. I am.'

_'Then you must come. For him, more than for me.'_

'Oh...' I sighed heavily. 'All right ... all right. I'll come.'

Her breath came in a rush. _'Oh, thank-you. Thank-you, señora.'_ There had been a tightness in her throat that was suddenly released; she breathed hard against it. _'Do not drive up to the house; leave your car by the gate and walk up the drive. There is a side door, on the left-hand side of the house, I will leave it open.'_

I hung up and dressed quickly, pulling on whatever was to hand and dragged a comb through my hair. John had taken the car but there were always taxicabs outside the hotel. I crossed the lobby; music was tippling out from the bar, mingled with high-pitched laughter and loud conversations. Ruben was at the front desk, talking into a telephone; he had his back to me as I passed.

It was a pleasant night out: the air was very warm and carried the scent of brine, flowers and lemon. On the forecourt a short row of taxicabs stood waiting for fares, two drivers stood together smoking and engaging in a conversation that seemed to necessitate much fervent gesticulation. I approached the car at the head of the queue. It's driver nodded over the wheel, his eyes half-closed, a shabby cap pulled down over his eyes.

'Excuse me... Señor?'

He started, blinked at me, and shifted in his seat. 'Buenas noches, señora.'

'Buenas noches. Are you working?'

He bit a ragged piece of nail, chewed on it thoughtfully. 'Sí.'

'Could you take me to Miramar? Avenida Quinta?'

'Sí, sí.'

'Gracias.' I climbed into the back seat. The engine sputtered as it turned over but we pulled away smoothly enough. The taxi wound along the sweep leading away from the hotel at speed - the preferred mode for taxi drivers the world over, I believe. The jagged nail was still a source of some consternation for him: throughout the drive he kept one hand on the wheel and the other raised to his mouth. He must have had it bitten down to the quick.

There were few lights along the coastal road: the headlights illuminated our way a few feet at a time; there was the occasional glint further inland that signified the presence of houses; but looking back through the rear window... There was most of the city laid out, a maze in miniature of bright gold lines leading down to the cool darkness of the harbour in the old quarter of the city.

I settled back in the seat. The leather was worn so soft it was almost falling apart, and paper-thin. The countless passengers who had travelled there were inscribed into its surface, the vagaries of human existence captured within the confines of metal, glass and leather. I was the latest in a procession and there would be any number who would follow, each with their own unique tale.

I tried to imagine what it was that Rosa Sandoval deemed so important at that hour of the night, but could not. She had sounded more than a little desperate and I recalled the haunted, hunted expression in her lovely dark eyes. I also could not help but feel a certain satisfaction: while John and the boys were busy amusing themselves down at the docks, it was possible that I could discover the key to this whole matter, or at least part of it, all on my own. But that was getting ahead of myself.

We swung into the wide boulevard, its width picked out by the ornamental lampposts that glowed softly against the night, I sat forward.

'The house is called Los Cipreses.' The driver nodded. 'If you could let me out by the gate...'

His head jerked; I saw his eyes fastening on me in the rear-view mirror. 'You no want me drive you up?'

'No, thank-you. If you let me out on the street, that will be fine. But I would like you to wait.' He heaved a sigh and then heaved his shoulders. 'Señora...'

'I can make it worth your while.'

The taxi slowed; we prowled to the gates that were the entrance to that fine old villa. He stopped, turned and looked at me. 'You sure you want get out here?'

'I'm sure. Will you wait?'

He sighed again, a great shuddering specimen designed to inform me that my request rocked him to his very soul. It was quite a performance. I paid him the fare and a little more to ensure his goodwill - not too much, but just enough to let him know that I would pay more than his while was worth, if he did as I wished. That tacit understanding was reached in silence. After I clambered out of the back and closed the door he rolled down the window and watched my progress as I started up the long curving drive. I imagined him to be a father of daughters.

Los Cipreses was in almost complete darkness. A light over the columned doorway and a couple showing in upstairs windows, no more. The gravel crunched under my feet and sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness. There were cicadas and precious little else to hear; the noise of the taxi's engine would not have been heard unless someone were listening for it and listening keenly. I skirted the house, following a path that led to the left side as directed. Here there was more light: it spilled from the french windows across the terrace before being absorbed into the dense blackness of the garden's cool grass and trees. I stepped lightly across the flagstones, keeping to the shadows more by instinct than any rational decision - a rational non-decision, perhaps. The long doors were open slightly and the drapes across them only partially drawn. There was a figure moving about inside the room, an indistinct shape that threw a wavering shadow across the ceiling. Just the one figure, the one shadow. Rosa was alone. I pushed open the door a little more and slipped inside.

'Miss Sandoval?' I had spoken softly but she started violently, whirled around and faced me. Her lovely dark eyes were wild.

'You came.'

'I said that I would.'

'Yes. Yes, but still I was not sure. People say many things.' I looked at her closely. That seemed to be a recurrent theme of late - the mistrust of the words of others. 'Thank-you.'

'It's no trouble.'

There was a flicker across her face, a movement at her lips. 'That is not true.'

'No, I- I suppose it isn't. But I am here.' There was silence; the clock on the mantelpiece kept a regular rhythm, its_ tick-tick-tick _distractingly loud. 'Are you all on your own?'

'Yes, my brother is not here but he will soon return home. Please, sit.'

I took the same seat I had at our last meeting and waited for her to speak. She did not sit, she did not move at all for a moment; then she crossed to a writing desk, it top rolled back, and picked something up.

'You are Jack's friends you and your husband, and you seemed- I did not know whom else to call.'

'About what?'

'This.'

She turned and my breath made a strange whistling sound. The gun she held was small - probably not more than a .22 - but it was large enough for its purpose and at that range... Its round black eye stared at me remorselessly. I had the sudden thought that before I left the hotel I had neglected to put on any make-up. It was a stupid thought, and vain. The clock still ticked, seconds of my life speeding away. If I should die before I wake... I laughed at myself. I was already awake and I did not want to die.

Rosa was talking, fast urgent words that I had not heard. I forced my eyes to meet hers. They were still wild and still lovely.

'I'm sorry- I'm sorry, I didn't hear.' My voice was thick; I was speaking through molasses.

'I shot him; it was me. I shot him, I killed him.' There was no tremor in her hand, though there were plenty in her voice. 'I should tell the police, I know. And I will. But I- I did not want to tell them on my own; that is why- That is why I called for you. I thought that you would understand. I killed him.'

I shook my head. 'Who?'

She was impatient. 'My father! I-I shot him. He would not allow me to marry Jack, he would have sent me away, far away. I did not wish to go. He would not listen, so I- I killed him.'

'I see. You shot him?'

'Sí. Yes.'

'With that gun?'

The tremor had reached her hand; her fingers had tightened around the butt, pulling harder against the trigger.

'Yes.'

'And then what?'

'I do not understand.'

'After you shot him, then what did you do?'

'I- I ran away. What does this matter? I killed my father; you will stay with me while I ring the police. You will tell them what I told you.' Another flicker worked her face, a different kind. 'Mi confesión.'

I took in a breath and released it slowly. I kept my voice gently. 'Rosa, your father wasn't shot - someone strangled him.'

She stared at me.

'They didn't tell you that, did they?'

She didn't seem to breathe; the cords in her neck stood out; her face twitched and the wildness in her eyes died. 'No.'

Rosa sat down and put her head in her hands. There were no tears, she simply sat. I stood and crossed to her; my hand closed around the gun barrel and for a moment she held it, still tight, then let go. Blood rushed from my head then swept back in again. It was such a little thing, silver with a pearl handle. I hid it away in my purse.

'You must think I'm very stupid.'

Her dark head was still bowed.

'No, I don't think you're stupid - a little reckless, perhaps, and rather desperate.'

Rosa looked up at me and offered a small, pathetic rag of a smile. 'You are very kind.'

There was a drinks table against one wall: I mixed two drinks as strong as my nerves could stand and made her take one. She took two mouthfuls and shuddered against them. I sat down again, opposite her.

'Why did you try to convince me that you had killed your father?'

She raised a hand helplessly, then let it fall back. 'I thought... I knew that they would know that I had not, in the end. But if there was another suspect, even just for a little while, they would have to let Jack go.'

I held my glass between my hands, lacing my fingers around it. 'Oh, Rosa... Jack was bailed earlier today, at the moment he is free.'

'He-' She laughed then, a sound loaded with bitterness. 'I am such a fool. You have seen him, yes?'

'Yes. And he's all right: a little rough around the edges, but he's fine.' I wondered if anyone ever told the girl anything at all. And thought that she must be so tired of it. John had been right, about that part at least. 'He's been worried about you... I'm surprised that he did not call.'

'If he had he would have been allowed to speak with me. Ignacio-' Rosa turned her head, looked out into the night, looked back at me. 'My brother is very protective. Do you- Do you have any brothers?'

'No.' I smiled. 'I have a sister, Maya, she's a little younger than I.'

'That must be nice, to have a sister.'

'It has its moments.' I pulled from my purse my cigarette case and the long jade holder that had been a gift from Maya - an apology for some minor transgression. 'Do you mind?'

Her head shook; I offered her the case and she hesitated before taking one almost shyly. 'My father did not like me to smoke.'

I lit it for her and put my purse on the floor - its unfamiliar weight a reminder of its sleek new occupant.

Rosa held the cigarette awkwardly between her fingers and coughed a little at the smoke.

'Do you know who could have done this?'

'I have tried to think but I cannot. My father could be a hard man, but he was a good one. He worked all his life. He came from Vedado, his family had nothing; everything he had he made for himself. And he wanted the best, always the best, for us, for his children.'

I smiled again. Fathers were like that. At least, they ought to be.

'He was not always an easy man to love, but I loved him very much...'

'What happened that night?'

Rosa took more of her drink and another pull on her cigarette. 'We had been to dinner at the Nacional. There was an argument...'

'In the garden, yes I know,' I said.

Her head jerked sharply. 'Oh yes, that was you and your husband. I had not realised.'

'We weren't trying to eavesdrop but we couldn't help but hear.'

She brushed her hair away from her face and shrugged. 'It is no matter. We returned home and there was another argument- No. It was still the same argument. About Jack. I had thought that he would understand with time, but... When he brought Jack to the house they were friends. Jack was good enough for that, but not good enough to be married to his daughter.'

'Perhaps he was just afraid that Jack would take you away from him.'

'Perhaps. Jack would be happy to stay in Havana, I think; I was the one who wished to leave - not forever, but for a while. The two of us on Jack's boat... I wanted that very much. I tried to talk to Papa; I tried again that night but he would not listen. I was so angry with him.' Her eyes met mine again and she smiled wryly. 'But not enough to kill him.'

'No. Why did you think that he had been shot?'

'I-' Ash spilled across her skirt; she brushed it away absentmindedly. 'When they said he had been murdered, it seemed... I don't know. I did not really think. It does not seem that I have thought at all these last days.' There was another moment's silence, then: 'I waited until the house was quiet; I went down into the old part of the city to a place where I knew Jack would be.'

'Club Estrellita - we saw you there, too.' Her eyes were surprised and suspicious - I could not blame her for that. 'You arrived just as we were leaving.'

'You seem to be everywhere in Havana, Mrs Sheridan.'

'We do get around,' I agreed. 'And my name is Della.'

Rosa nodded. 'I wanted to go away then but Jack said no; he made me go home. Papa was still in his study, I saw the light under the door; and Ignacio was still awake, too, I think, there was music in his room. They did not know I had been out. I went to bed and then the next morning, they- they found him.' She was somewhere else then, a bleak place too far for anyone to reach her. I took the smouldering stump from her fingers and stubbed it out. 'I don't understand why or who would want to do this.'

'From what your brother said yesterday he thinks that Jack is responsible.'

'Yes.'

'But you don't.'

She looked outraged. 'Of course not! I know he did not!'

'Did you know that he came here that night?'

That stopped her; her mouth was open, wordless. 'What- That is not true. He was not here.'

'Yes, he was; Jack told us that himself. He said that Mr Sandoval had left a message for him, that he needed to see Jack urgently. They were supposed to meet in a-a summerhouse? Here in the grounds?' She nodded. 'Jack arrived and waited but your father never came.'

'But that does not make any sense.'

'Would he have wanted to see Jack because of the argument you'd had?'

Rosa's hands clasped together tightly in her lap. 'I do not think so. He said he did not want Jack to come anywhere near- They had done business together, but- But not in the middle of the night. But Papa never talked about his business with me.'

I sighed. 'Do you think Ignacio would know anything about it?'

'No. I don't know.' She stood up, retrieved her glass and mine and carried them over to the table. 'You have been very kind. Very patient. I-I do not find it easy to find people to talk to.'

'No. No, that's never easy.' The interview was over; I crossed the room to her and took hold of her hands; they were small and very cold. 'I'll be glad to come and see you again; and you are more than welcome to come to us anytime you want; I know that it's difficult for you to get away, but you are very welcome.'

Her fingers fastened onto mine. 'Thank-you.'

I departed as I had arrived: slipping out through the french windows and hugging the side of the house until I regained the open and the upper sweep of driveway. The cloud had thickened while I had been inside; everything seemed much darker than it had before. I have never been afraid of the dark, only of the evil that is so frequently committed in its obscurities. Even so, the rustling in the undergrowth and the sharp cries of nearby predators unsettled me. I walked faster. At the bottom of the drive I discovered that my friendly taxicab driver had vanished. Loyalty, even the transitory kind, evidently cost more than I had thought.

My options were limited. I could return to the house and ask Rosa if I could telephone for another taxi to collect me; given that she had been so concerned that no-one should know I was there, and with Ignacio Sandoval expected to return, it did not seem prudent for her sake. That still, silent neighbourhood did not seem conducive to having weary wanderers banging on their gates at that hour and requesting the use of a telephone. I tried to calculate the distance to the club. A few colourful expressions that I have heard John utilise when he's believed me to be out of earshot sprang to mind forcibly. It would have to be Rosa.

It had been only moments and I had wandered a little way down the street in the vain hope of espying my errant driver. I turned to retrace my steps when a car engine purred into life and headlights cut through the dark. Their brilliance arced across the sidewalk; I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the dazzle but I was already blinded. It drew closer; I stepped away from the kerb instinctively but the car mounted the sidewalk. Two doors opened, their edges almost scraping the wall, and I was pinned between them. Over the engine's throb a voice said calmly,

'I am pleased to be able to offer you a lift, Señora Sheridan. Please, get in.'

I did not move. Bright spots danced before my eyes and I could see nothing of the darkened interior of the car. Something moved: a large shape unfolded itself, clambered out and stood looking down at me. A gun barrel glittered; I thought about the small pistol that was still in my purse but did not take that thought any further. He could easily take it off me. He was a big goon; he reminded me of the man that Mike always referred to as Mercury. I remembered him very well.

'Please, señora, get in.' The words floated from the back-seat. My gun-wielding friend leered at me. I got in.

The goon followed, settling himself onto a cramped, fold-down seat opposite me and-

He was at his ease in the corner of the back-seat, a quiet-looking man but his eyes were as cold and as hard as steel; he looked expensive in a cheap sort of way. His dark face might have been called good-looking, but that was also in a cheap sort of way.

'Buenas noches, señora.'

The car bumped off the kerb; I stared at him.

'I apologise for this, uh, unconventional introduction, but I felt it was necessary.' He smiled and showed me a lot of teeth; the smile was not returned.

I noted with some interest that my pulse had not quickened quite as much as I would have thought. It was the second time in a month in which a man of dubious dealings had offered me a lift at gunpoint. It was not even the first time tonight that I had been at gunpoint. It was becoming a way of life practically.

'You have me at a disadvantage, sir,' I said after a while. 'You know my name - I do not know yours.'

'Of course. I am Ernesto Vargas, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, señora.'

'I hope you'll forgive me if I do not return the sentiment.'

I was treated to another view of his teeth.

The car rolled smoothly along the road. It was a new car; the confines of the back-seat were redolent of the heady smell of fresh leather mingled with Señor Vargas' cologne. It was cloying; I felt it all catch at the back of my throat.

'I take it that you wished to speak with me. While this is certainly a more impressive vehicle than the one that brought me to here, I cannot suppose that you patrol the streets of Miramar on the off-chance that a stranded female may require assistance.'

He made a chuckling sound and his chest vibrated with it. 'Indeed not. But that is a most charming idea. No, I wished to give a message to your husband.'

'I see. Why don't you just go to him directly?'

One hand waved, the little finger of which carried a heavy gold ring with a large emerald. His hands were well-taken of. I wondered vaguely if he went to the same manicurist as Ambassador Ryland. 'I thought it would be better to speak with you.'

'Ah, I see!' I nodded, showing my appreciation. 'You prefer to do business with a woman. That's a very laudable position, Señor Vargas, I only wish that your American counterparts were half so forward thinking.'

He threw back his head and laughed heartily. 'You are a- What is that word? Formidable. Yes, a formidable woman. And a very beautiful one.' His eyes travelled over me, slowly; I did not blush, no emotion warmed my cheeks under that gaze; instead my face grew cold with the iciness of anger. 'Your husband is the most fortunate of men.'

'I'll be sure to pass that message along.'

Vargas laughed again. 'Yes, very fortunate.'

Out of the corner of my eye I could see his henchman still wearing that inane leer; and the gun was still in his hand.

Vargas settled back into the depths of his seat, one hand resting lightly on his knee; he sighed and looked utterly content. Apart from the large gentleman with the firearm, one might have supposed us out on a pleasant drive.

'Apart from informing my husband of his good fortune,' I said, 'what was it that you wanted him to know?'

His shoulders raised a fraction and dropped again. 'It is very simple: I wish for you to tell him that I did not kill Alejandro Sandoval.'

I blinked. 'I see. And why would you suppose that my husband thinks you had?'

'I have been told that your husband is a, uh, a gumshoe, that is the word, yes? A private detective. I hear that he is investigating this murder. It was a very bad business, I was distressed to hear of it. I knew Alejandro; many years ago I knew him very well, we grew up on the same street in Vedado. Both of us make much money: sometimes we both want to make money in the same place but there is only room for one. But most of the time he had his business and I had mine.'

'And was Alejandro Sandoval in the same line of business as you?'

His head tilted, his steely eyes narrowing; I could not identify their glitter. 'We had different interests, señora. I had no wish for his death and I had no reason to kill him. You will tell your husband this, señora. You will tell him that he will not make my business his business.'

The car slowed and swung around a bend; the force pressed me harder into the corner of the seat; I braced myself against the hard edge of the door at my back.

'I do not respond well to threats,' I said levelly, 'and my husband even less so.'

'Señora!' He looked pained. 'These are not threats - these are facts. I know nothing of the murder of my old friend Alejandro, this is a fact; Señor Sheridan will waste his time if he interferes with my business, that is a fact; and if he does I will waste much more than his time - that, señora, is also a fact. You understand?'

I was cold all over; his words had hit me right in the spine and his eyes were the eyes of a killer. 'Yes. I understand.'

'Bueno. Then all is well. You see' -he spread his hands and smiled at me again- 'I am a reasonable man.'

'And my husband is a fortunate one.'

His face creased. 'Sí. Let us hope his good fortune continues.'

The car rolled to a halt, braking softly. The silent henchman leaned across and opened the door. He held his position, barring my exit.

'Buenas noches, Señora Sheridan,' Vargas said. 'I hope that we may meet under more, uh, pleasant circumstances next time.'

I curved my lips at him. 'Believe me, Señor Vargas, there will not be a next time.'

He made that chuckling sound, raised a hand, the thick arm blocking my way moved back and I climbed out of the back-seat. The car roared away, kicking up a cloud of dust.

I choked on my breath as I tried to keep hold of it; my legs felt boneless; there was a prickling sensation behind my eyes and my throat tightened. There was a wall behind me and I leant against it. My hands had started to shake; my whole body was shaking.

After a while I peeled myself off my piece of wall. The road stretched along in either direction and beyond that the beach with its constant roll of water. I looked along the road and recognised the outline silhouetted against the sky: the comforting bulk of the Hotel Nacional, partially illuminated by the outdoor floodlights, was only a few yards away. They had left me on the Malecón; I almost wept with relief.

The impersonal marble hall with its light-footed porters, artfully arranged furnishings, and scented air had never felt quite so welcoming. It also felt like one of the longest walks of my life: with each step I took the elevators seemed to get further away. A rush of footsteps approached; I stepped aside and the owner of the feet stopped suddenly.

'Señora! You are here! You are alive!' Ruben peered at me, his eyes bright.

I smiled wearily. 'Yes, I'm here and still alive...' My sense of unease returned. Why? Did you think I would not be?'

He breathed out. 'Oh, señora, Señor Sheridan, he come, he-he - el está muy alterado.'

'Oh. He's, uh, he's back?'

'Sí, sí. He come back, he no know where you are. He ask me, I tell him _I_ no know. I do not know. I did not see you go out.' He was accusing.

I fiddled with the clasp on my purse. 'And he was upset, you said?'

Ruben nodded with enthusiasm, in case, perhaps, I might misunderstand his meaning. 'Yes, señora, upset, very.' His hands waved. 'All, all very upset.'

'All?'

'Oh, the others with him.'

It came as a relief. If Jack and Mark - I assumed it was they, I could not imagine anyone else in Havana would be concerned for my welfare - were there it would diffuse things somewhat. 'And where are they now?'

Ruben pointed at the ceiling. 'In the suite.' Time passed. He watched me and then cleared his throat. 'Do you want for me to tell him you have returned?'

'No no, it's fine; I'll ... I'll do it. In a moment.'

We waited.

'Ruben, would you bring a bottle of Scotch and some glasses up to the suite?'

He grimaced. 'Sí, señora'

As I approached the door to the suite there was the drone of voices from within. I opened the door quietly, closed it equally quietly and started edging forward; I heard John's voice finishing a sentence very loudly with an unrepeatable word. Jack cut in:

'Will you calm down? You can't go tearing Havana apart!'

'Yeah, I can. I'll start at one end of the city and keep on 'til the other if I have to!'

'Oh!' Mark had seen me; he stared round-eyed. Jack looked at him and then looked at me and there was a slackness in his face.

John had his back to me, his broad shoulders squared; he looked twice as large as usual, which was both a reassuring and terrifying sight. He noticed the other two men and turned slowly. His face was a mask; when he spoke his voice was low and hoarse.

'Damn it. Goddamn it, Della!' He crossed to me in two steps, took hold of my arms and shook me. 'Where the hell have you been?'

_TBC_


	13. Chapter 13

**ooOoo**

**13**

**ooOoo**

Della stood, still and patient, her big grey eyes fixed on my face. I thought about what I'd thought earlier, about keeping her locked away somewhere, and thought that maybe that hadn't been such a bad idea after all. I thought about putting her onto the first plane back to New York in the morning. I thought that my making it to forty was a long-shot because being married to this woman would probably finish me off long before then. She still stared up at me. Then Jack spoke up.

'You, uh, you want us to leave you two alone?'

She answered him, speaking over my shoulder. 'Oh no, it's quite all right. He'll calm down in a minute.'

'I wouldn't be so sure,' I told her and just about managed to unclench my teeth. Her face had a white, strained look behind the calm. 'Have you any idea what I've- Just what the hell do you think you're doing sneaking off in the middle of the night?'

'I did not sneak. It's not my fault that no-one saw me.'

'You didn't even leave a note, nothing.'

Her eyebrows arched. 'It took longer than I thought. And there's no need to get angry about it.'

'I'm not-' I took a breath, lowered my voice and tried to ignore the burning sensation in my chest. 'I'm not angry.'

'Oh... Well, if this is you when you're not angry, I'd hate to see what you're like when you are.' She looked all innocence and big wide eyes. Jack sniggered.

'Della-'

The doorbell chimed.

'That's probably Ruben with the Scotch,' she said, 'don't you think you ought to let him in?'

I realised I had hold of her pretty hard and unpicked my fingers from her arms; I headed up the short passage, opened the door and Ruben spilled in clutching a tray with glasses, ice, and a very welcome bottle.

'The señora told me to bring this.'

'Don't bother opening it,' I told him, 'I'll just swallow it whole.'

'Señor?'

'Nothing. Come on in.'

He tripped along behind me, put the tray on the table and made a great show of opening up the Scotch and building the drinks. I ran a hand through my hair.

'Ruben, you still working?'

'No, I finished a little time ago; this is the last thing I do.'

'That's fine. Get yourself a drink and sit down. And stop calling me "señor", my name's John.'

He looked like someone had plugged him in; he gripped the glass in his hand so tightly it looked like it might shatter. 'Truly? Oh, señor! Señor John- I...' He grinned.

Mark and Jack had got themselves sitting down and Jack was taking his drink like he thought he'd never see one again. They were like Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee - and Alice was nowhere to be seen.

'Now where is she?'

Mark nodded his head towards the bedroom. 'Mrs Sheridan mentioned something about freshening up.

'Right.'

I marched myself across the bedroom and closed the door over behind me - not completely closed, I didn't want them getting the wrong idea. Della was standing by the dressing-table, running a comb through her hair. She stood very straight, all cool and contained and closed-off. She wore slacks and a shirt, sort of pale pink, open at the throat. She looked like she'd been for a stroll. Except that she was gripping the comb so hard her knuckles showed white.

'Are you okay?'

She put it down on the dresser and looked at me and a half-smile worked its way across her face. 'Yes. Yes, I'm all right now. John. Would you do something for me?' Across the room she looked an awful long way off.

'Of course.'

'Would you hold me?'

She said it so simply, so politely, like she was asking for a cup of coffee. The metal ball in the middle of my chest melted. I went to her and took hold of her and held her closer than I'd meant to. She didn't seem to mind; she put her arms around my neck and pressed herself against me, hard, and I thought it was a wonder that either of us could breathe. I had my face in the soft curls of her hair and drank in their perfume; one of us was shaking and I couldn't tell which. Maybe we both were.

'What happened, sweetheart?' I took her chin in my hand and looked into her face. She breathed out heavily and smiled and looked better than she had before.

'I'll tell you - all of you.' She glanced at the door to the sitting-room.

'And you're sure you're okay?'

'I'm fine. Really.' She tilted her head back and inspected me. 'What happened to you?'

'Me? Nothing.'

'You look like you've been rolling around in the dirt.'

I flattened my hair but figured that that wouldn't help much. 'That's probably because I _have_ been rolling around in the dirt.'

'You clown.' Her fingers wandered lightly over my face and her gaze was reproachful. 'You made a promise to me - fine time to discover I married a liar.'

I took hold of her hand. 'Hey, I'm still here aren't I? I haven't broken a promise to you yet. Anyway, you're a fine one to talk.'

'I never made any promises.'

I still had one arm around her waist and pulled her closer again. 'We can fix that right off, starting with you promising not to go running around loose in the middle of the night, or any other time, without letting me know first.'

'What if I can't let you know beforehand?' she murmured.

'Then leave a note, send a carrier pigeon, take out an ad in the _Times_ - anything.'

She was fiddling with my collar, tweaking the ends and straightening them up. 'I think I can agree to those terms.'

'Well, thank God for that. You damn near gave me a heart attack.'

Her face lifted towards mine; I tasted her lips.

'You know, you're the most infuriating woman this side of the Andes?' I told her; our foreheads rested together and I felt her breath against my mouth.

'Wait until you see me on the other side.'

I groaned. 'No more, please.'

There was another breath of laughter and her lips parted again; she laced her fingers together at the back of my head. 'I was glad at first,' she said, somewhere breathy in the back of her throat, 'that you'd brought Jack and Mark back with you. But right now I really wish you hadn't.'

'Damn it,' I said. I smoothed down her hair and let go of her. 'Come on - the sooner we get through all of this, the sooner we can get rid of them.'

We went back to the sitting-room and found all three making friends with the Scotch. Ruben had taken his jacket off, undone the top button of his shirt, and he was talking eagerly to Mark, his black eyes shining. I still had hold of Della's hand and didn't let go of it until I had her sitting down. Jack, who doesn't miss much, grinned at me over the top of her head and winked; he just can't help himself.

Ruben leapt across and gave Della a drink.

'The señor, he ask me to stay,' he told her.

'Quite right too,' she said and smiled at him. That sealed it for him - he was cock of the hoop and all but threw back his head and crowed; he managed to restrain himself and just sit down again instead. Della took some of her drink and the rest of the colour came back into her face.

I took the drink Ruben had pushed at me and drank most of it in two swallows. It burnt on the way down and set off a small explosion inside my head but when it all calmed down I started to feel like a passable impression of a full-grown human male again. I was a tough-guy all right, I had guts and character and fortitude - one scare sent me to pieces.

Jack clapped his hands together. 'So, who goes first?'

'You do,' Della said, before I had the chance to get my mouth open. 'What happened to your head?'

'Huh? Oh.' Jack raised a hand; his hair was still matted and there was a red-brown smear showing against his skin. 'It's nothing - you should see the other guy.'

'Let me see.' She was up and over and examining him before anyone knew anything about it; Jack didn't roll over for her but he didn't exactly fight her off either.

'It's fine, I got it all cleaned up. Like I said to Johnny, a few drinks will see me just fine.'

'Hm.' She was still peering at him. 'There's probably no concussion but you should be careful, even so.'

He grinned up at her. 'You willing to play nurse with me?'

'What the hell are you doing?'

The grin got turned on me. 'Stealing your woman.'

Della rolled her eyes and came back to her seat beside me on the couch. 'Honestly, you two - you're as bad as each other.'

Jack winked at me again.

We gave Della - and Ruben - the whole show from the top, which didn't take all that long as there wasn't much to tell. By the time we finished she was wearing a healthy frown and Ruben was sloshing the Scotch out again.

'And you have no idea who they were?' she asked.

'Nope. Although, I'm pretty sure I'd recognise my dance-partner again,' I said.

'So it was all just a, uh, a set-up?'

I shrugged. 'Maybe, maybe not. Maybe the kid cracked, maybe his crew got suspicious and followed him and figured they'd take care of all us at once.'

Della breathed out heavily. 'They can't be very good at this sort of thing if they managed to miss all of you.'

'You needn't sound so disappointed.'

'I did not-' She thinned her lips at me. 'You're a heel.'

'And you're stalling.' I put my glass down on the table and looked at her fully. 'Okay. I left here and then what?'

Della had her hands in her lap, her back straight, like she was giving a Sunday School lesson. I've come to the conclusion - fairly rapidly - that there are two kinds of people in this world: the ones who think that Della is a sort of innocent ingénue, and the ones who've met her. 'All right - but I don't want any commotion, from anybody.' We were all included in that. The fact that this directive was being issued before we'd even begun started that feeling of ice-water dripping down my spine again. 'Well, you hadn't been gone that long when the telephone rang...'

We'd just made it to Los Cipreses and Rosa when the first commotion started, no matter what Della had said.

'...Rosa was terribly upset. She was very worried about you; she didn't know that you'd been released-'

'I tried to call her!' Jack had started getting antsy pretty much as soon as Della had started but he'd been handling it pretty well so far.

'Yes, I thought you probably had. But she didn't know that; she thought that you were still in jail and was desperate to get you out, and she thought that the police would have to let you go if they had another suspect.'

His face got a grey look. 'Oh no; aw, hell, what did she-'

'Rosa tried very hard to make me think that she had killed her father.'

'That's insane. That- She's cracked. What the hell did she do?'

'Take it easy, Jack.'

He passed a hand over his face, looked at me and looked at Della. 'Sorry. I'm sorry. What happened?'

'Rosa was not, as you put it, cracked. It may not have been the wisest course but she had thought it out ... up to a point.' Della reached across to the table and picked up her purse; she slid her hand in and sat there. 'No-one had told her exactly what had happened to her father - I suppose that her brother believes he is protecting her, although if you ask me I don't think that that's doing her any favours - and so ... so she told me that she had shot her father, with this.'

Della pulled out her hand and the gun lay in her palm, silver and shining and lethal. Jack's face went very tight, his lips pressing together.

'She can't-' He stopped and swallowed, hard, looking like bile was in his throat. 'She can't think that I...'

'No!' Della sat forward. 'She knows that you did not; she wanted to help you and ... oh, I suppose that was the only way she could think of. Rosa knows you're innocent.'

'Good, that's ... that's good.' His hands were flexing. 'I can't believe she did that.'

Della sat back again and smiled slightly. 'As I said, possibly not the wisest decision but it was rather noble. She has a great deal of spirit, deep down.'

'Yeah...' Jack let out a breath and it shook; he took hold of his glass again. 'Y'know, when she doesn't have her whole family breathing down her neck... You should see her; she really can be something.'

I took the gun from Della and looked at it. It hadn't been fired - not recently, anyway - but it was loaded and well-oiled.

'A very nice piece,' Mark said, peering over - and he's a man who knows what he's talking about.

'Mm. I wonder where she got it from.'

'I don't know.' Della turned her eyes on me again. 'Ought I have asked her?'

I smiled at her, I couldn't help it. 'I think you did enough, plaything.'

'Oh.' Her lips pushed out then back in.

'And then what?'

'Hm?'

We were back to her vague act.

'And then what happened after that?' I said slowly. 'You weren't all that time with Rosa.'

'No. No, I...' One hand cupped the back of her neck. Oh brother. The ice-water down my spine turned solid. Then came the case of the missing hackie; then the convenient pick-up, then: 'I had a most interesting conversation with a gentleman named Ernesto Vargas.'

No-one made a sound that you could hear but three people straightening their spines all at once sent waves through the air. I looked at Mark: he was still leaning in the corner of his chair, his legs stretched out, but he was stiff and wound tight as a spring.

'You mentioned Vargas,' I said.

Mark blinked at me. 'Did I?'

'Skip it. You know damn well you did, right here in this room.' I tilted my head back and looked at him down my eyes. 'His name came up in connection with this smuggling racket you've dragged us all into.'

'I didn't exactly have to drag you - I just sort of gestured in the general direction of that particular door and you marched yourself right through it.'

I kept my eyes on him. He sighed.

'Yes, yes, all right: Vargas' name has been mentioned but there is nothing to link him directly with any of it. It's ... tangential, at best. He's one of those operators who has his fingers in a great many pies but pays very well to make sure that any fingerprints he leaves behind are cleaned away.'

'Pays who?' I had a feeling, a nasty one.

Mark lifted his shoulders. 'Oh... Officials, I suppose.'

'Officials like Captain Ramon Estevez?'

'I don't buy that' -Jack shook his head- 'not a bit. Estevez is a hard-ass but he's straight up.'

I put my eyebrows up at him. 'You sound almost fond.'

'After the week I've had? I feel like killing him. But I still can't see him taking bribes to do the dirty on me or anyone else.'

I breathed out and ran a hand through my hair. So much for my feeling. But I wasn't entirely sorry about that. Della was still sitting, very calm, very upright, and giving the impression that all this was somehow nothing to do with her. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Ruben twitching.

'This Vargas guy mean anything to you?' I asked him.

'I do not know him, but I know who he is. He is not a good man. He has a night-club in the city, El Corazón, this is not a nice place to go. There is also a casino, that is part of the club, and many people loose much money - the tables are, uh, they are not honest, they...'

'They're rigged?'

'Rigged! Yes, sen-' His eyes gleamed. 'They are rigged. And part of the club is also a-' He shut himself up and glanced at Della with a stricken look.

'It's also a what?' Typical that she should pick up on the part no-one wanted her to.

'It's...' I looked at Jack - he was fascinated by the ice melting in his glass. 'It's not a place that you'll be going anytime soon,' I told her.

'What they're all trying very hard not to tell you is that the place doubles as a house of ill repute,' Mark said helpfully, leaning across to her.

'Oh, I see.'

'You're a real pal.'

Mark grinned back at me. 'Always happy to lend a hand.'

Della had an amused expression - she had her head tilted back and was regarding me with indulgence. 'John, I'm hardly a child - I know that such places exist. I won't go into a dead faint simply because somebody alludes to a ... a bordello.' She turned thoughtful. 'I had no idea that you were such a prude.'

'I had no idea you weren't!'

'Really?'

My head was being turned inside out. 'Can we just get back to where all this started?' I took a breath, then said levelly, 'Vargas got you in his car, and...'

'And he told me that I'm very beautiful and that you're very fortunate. Naturally, I agreed with him.'

'I see.'

'And he wanted me to give you a message: that he did not kill Alejandro Sandoval.'

'Okay. And what makes him think that I'd think that he did?'

Her head shook slowly. 'I don't know. All he said was that he knows you are a detective, he knows you're investigating the case and that it would be massively unwise for you to interfere in his business. I'm paraphrasing slightly.'

The air had grown thick - or maybe that's just the way it seemed to me. Della had been talking and I had heard her but after that everything seemed to come through a filter, something heavy that blotted out everything else.

'John!'

Her voice was sharp; Della was watching me, her eyes held wide, and every line of her body held tension.

'Did he hurt you?'

'No. No-one did anything to me. John, I'm fine.'

There were a few shards of glass on the floor by my feet and the glass that I'd been holding wasn't there any more. My hand was wet, a few splashes against my sleeve. I bent down, picked up the pieces and placed them on the table. Ruben cleared his throat, then cleared it again.

'Would you like another drink?'

'I think that we could all do with one,' Della replied.

Her eyes were still on me.

'I'm not going to run out breaking heads,' I told her, 'you can relax.'

She sat back in the corner of the couch and brushed some hairs away from her face but she didn't exactly relax. I wasn't lying to her - I was not in a murderous frame of mind. I was calm, very calm.

'Did Vargas have anything else to say for himself?' Ruben held out a glass to me and I took it with thanks - he was all nerves and wiry tendons and big black eyes.

'That was it, really. I don't know how he knew I was there.'

'Don't you?'

Della's glass stopped halfway to her lips. 'No! I can't believe for a moment that-' She looked at Jack and breathed out heavily. 'It's too ridiculous.'

'Is it? Except for Rosa, no-one knew that you'd be going out to Los Cipreses-'

There was a small explosion from opposite us. 'Just what the hell are you saying?' Jack's face was as black as a thundercloud. 'Look, I know you're trying to help me out here but this is not the way to do it - you're not making Rosa the goat!'

I let it slide. 'Okay. For argument's sake, let's say that Vargas was just hanging around on the off-chance that Della would show up at the Sandoval's so that he could have his chat with her.'

'I could have been followed,' Della said. 'It's even possible that our telephone calls are being listened to. If Mr Vargas has as many contacts as Mark says he has, and he believes that you could be a threat to him, it's not beyond reason that he could have bribed a switchboard operator, even here in the hotel, to let him know who calls us and what is said. What?'

I smiled at her. 'Don't look now, plaything, but you're starting to think like a detective.' Her cheeks turned a shade of pink only slightly lighter than the blouse she was wearing.

'So, is that it?' Jack demanded. 'You done? Or do you want to throw a few more accusations around?'

'I wasn't accusing anyone.' I remembered something that Mike had told me around that time that we'd started our partnership - no-one ever made a friend by being a detective. Chances were you didn't get to keep any, either. 'I'm not trying to get you sore, I'm just trying to figure this out.'

'I know.' Jack's hands flexed, clenching and unclenching, then relaxed. 'God, this stinks.'

We were a cheerful bunch. Della took in a deep breath and released it slowly.

'Is it possible that Vargas did kill Sandoval?' She didn't address the question to anyone in particular. 'Perhaps his protestations are due to a guilty conscience.'

'A man such as this has no conscience,' Ruben said darkly. 'They say he has killed many men; they say the harbour is full of the bodies of those who have made him angry.'

' "They" are full of it,' I said. 'Still, it is a possibility. Vargas is a gangster, that's pretty much the size of it. And Sandoval dragged himself up from nothing - you don't build a business like his without crossing lines somewhere.'

'So you're saying all businessmen are crooks? Is that it?' Della's face was stormy. 'Like my father?'

I stared at her. 'What has your father go to do with this?'

'He started with practically nothing and he built his business from the ground up. You- Making these generalisations. My father was just as honest as your is!'

'Well, one day you'll find out what a hot recommendation _that_ is.' She glared at me. 'Okay, okay. I'm not assuming that Alejandro Sandoval, or anyone else in the business community, was or is a crook. But it's a possibility.'

She sighed. 'I suppose so. What do you think, Jack?'

He was silent for a moment, chewing it over. 'I don't- I don't know. To my knowledge Alejandro wasn't involved in anything shady, but that doesn't really mean all that much.' His lips curled up into a smile and he flashed it at Della. 'And I mean no disrespect to anyone's father, but John has a point: it isn't always possible to be a self-made man the honest way. Could be that something had finally caught up with him.'

Ruben was still taking it all in with all the ears and eyes he had.

'You usually know what's going on and where,' I said to him. 'Any theories flying around the street on who the guilty party is?'

The kid looked apologetic and then looked at Jack. 'I am sorry, but everyone believes...'

I sighed. 'Great.'

ooOoo

Our guests finally left us alone and if you ask me it was not before time - if for no other reason that by then I could barely keep one eye open, let alone two. The prospect of sleep was enticing and I'd just got to that easy, floating feeling right before you actually drift off when Della started moving about with emphasis. She sighed loudly. More movement.

'John. John? Are you awake?'

'No, I'm asleep.'

'Good, I want to talk to you.'

I prised one set of eyelids apart and squinted at her: she was sitting up, a dark silhouette in profile. 'Can't you sleep?'

'No.'

'Oh. Maybe it would help if you took a drink.'

'No, I don't think so.'

'Okay. Maybe it would help if I took one.' I went through to the sitting-room, unearthed the bottle that Ruben had brought up and poured some out. When I got back to the other room, Della had put on a lamp and was sitting with her arms behind her head, frowning into the distance.

'What's wrong, baby?'

She sighed heavily. 'This. All of it. It's all so horrible. You know, I think I will have that drink after all.'

I handed her the glass. 'My darling.' I trailed out and back in again and sat down next to her on the edge of the bed. 'Anything in particular out of the whole mess bothering you?'

'I think it all bothers me.' She held her glass between her hands, balancing it on her knees. 'I've been making out a list of suspects in my head...'

'Didn't you try that already?'

A smile danced across her face. 'Yes. And I didn't get much further this time, except to add Ernesto Vargas.'

'Yeah. He's pretty much made himself our chief suspect, hasn't he?'

'Yes, and that's one of the things that bothers me. Could he really have done it? I mean, I know he _could_ have, theoretically, but he's such an obvious villain.'

'Plaything, there's a reason why villains are obvious.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah - they're villains.'

She laughed.

'I'm serious.'

'I know you are, darling. Still... It would make it all so much simpler if it were him. We don't have any proof about any of it, do we? We can't even prove that Jack _didn't _do it.'

'I know.' My shoulder was still complaining from time to time; it gave a twinge and I stopped leaning back on it. That helped. 'But if the police had anything more than the circumstantial proof they've got now they wouldn't have let him go so easily. Ambassador Ryland or no Ambassador Ryland.'

'I suppose.' She put the glass on the stand by the bed and stretched out her legs.

'Do you know how to fire a gun?'

She blinked at me. 'What?'

'A gun,' I repeated, 'do you know how to fire one?'

'I- Wha- Why on earth are you asking that?'

'It isn't a trick question: do you or don't you?'

The frown was back and she stared at me, looking like she was trying to get inside my head by sheer force of will. 'Yes, I know how to shoot.'

'Good. Because you might want to hang on to that little pea-shooter you took off Rosa. Just in case.'

'Just in case of what?'

'I don't know.' Her face was grave in the lamplight, she had that soft-focussed look, her eyes darkened by shadows. 'I don't really want to think about it.'

She was quiet for a moment. 'Wouldn't it be better if you had it? You might need it.'

'That little toy? With a pearl-handle? No self-respecting male would be seen dead with it.'

'I wish you wouldn't say things like that,' she said quietly.

Her hands were cold when I took hold of them. 'It's just a figure of speech, baby.'

'I know, but even so...' She shivered and then shook it off. 'I feel so sorry for that poor child.'

'Rosa?'

She nodded. 'She's terribly afraid of something. There were bruises on her arms.'

'Fresh?'

'Fairly, I think. I didn't get a very good look at them: her sleeves weren't quite long enough to cover them, I could see them when she moved. But it looked to me as though she'd got them in the last few days.'

I blew out a breath. 'So it could have been her father.'

Della hesitated. 'Perhaps. She said that he could be very difficult but that she loved him. I believed her.'

'She wouldn't be the first woman to still love the lug who knocked her about.'

'I don't know if it was that bad - it looked as though someone had grabbed hold of her very hard.' She glanced at me wryly. 'Speaking of which, I'll probably have a lovely set of my own in the morning.'

My stomach flipped. In my whole life I'd never raised my hand to a woman and that night I'd tossed my wife around like she was a rag doll.

'I'm sorry. My God, I'm sorry, I-'

Della put her arms around my neck and looked into my face. 'Darling, you married an idiot. I didn't mean it like that. I'm the one who's sorry.'

'If I hurt you-'

'You didn't.'

I untwined her arms, held one out under the light from the lamp and carefully examined the soft white flesh above her elbow. 'There are marks...'

'You can barely see them. It's nothing.'

Faint red against her skin; I pressed my lips against them, as though that could take the hurt away. She shifted again, sliding down slightly against the pillows; her fingers curled into the hair at the back of my neck.

'John...'

Her face was still soft-focussed, her eyes heavy lidded, and her lips were moist and parted. I ran my hand along her cheek, down the line of her neck and she leant into it; I could feel her pulse wild under my fingers. Then she put her arms around me again and pulled my weight down against hers.

ooOoo

It was dark again, and still.

'Listen,' Della's voice was soft, 'it's raining.'

'I know.'

Air cooled by the storm came in through the open windows; Della's hair was spread across my chest and I stroked it.

'That's the one thing that will always make me sleep at night, the sound of rain.' It wasn't heavy, just a constant light rush of sound. What I said after that I hadn't meant to say, I hadn't meant to say anything, I just started talking. 'After the war, when I got back home, it was weeks before I was able to get to sleep properly.'

'Because of Anna.'

My hand rested against the back of her head; I kissed her hair. 'No. It was the silence. I couldn't get used to the ... absence of noise. There was always noise: bombing, shelling, gunfire, in the distance - or closer; aircraft overhead; sirens; not to mention a few hundred other men in the camp. An army barracks in a war zone is a pretty noisy place even in the middle of the night. And when I got back to the States it was all so quiet. It drove me crazy. And then I went back home, the family home, and it was even quieter. I'd pace the floor for hours... After a few nights of that... My dad must have heard me because after a few nights he got up, went outside, got the hose and sprayed it up onto the roof. He made it rain, stayed there until I fell asleep. I think he would have done that every night for years if he'd had to.' There was enough light that I could see her face, see her clear eyes. 'You'll like my dad.'

'I like him already.' She ran her fingers along my cheek. 'Sleep now.'

I held her, her head in the curve of my shoulder. It still rained. It had rained the first night I'd held her like this. They were the two things now, I thought: the sound of rain, and Della's soft steady breathing.

_TBC_


	14. Chapter 14

**ooOoo**

**14**

**ooOoo**

Our balcony had the air of a small flooded plain after all the rain the night before. Pools of water glistened damply in the morning sun and battered flower heads were strewn about looking crushed and forlorn. But everything sparkled beautifully and I experienced a great feeling of peace.

We had opted to take breakfast up in our suite: that had been at my suggestion and, if am to be wholly honest, with the aim of avoiding another incident such as the one that had befallen the unfortunate Mr Ward Warren - one could not always count on the fortuitous placing of swimming pools, even in the best of hotels.

I finished my coffee, standing in the doorway to the balcony, while John took a shower. There was little to do so I took the opportunity of writing the postcards that I had been meaning to attend to ever since we had arrived. One to Mike and another to Susan; one to Maya and Nero, although I was not certain why I was bothering as it would be chasing them around Europe and they would doubtless be back in New York before it caught them up; one to Duke; one to Drahl; and one to Leonard.

Poor Leonard. I suppose that it must be difficult for him to have to get used to the fact of there being another man in a position of authority in the house. He had been my father's secretary before he had been mine, and had been also my confidante and friend for as many years as he had been there with us. Things would not remain quite as they had been - they could not - but I had hopes for the future. John has a great knack of bringing people out their shells and Leonard was burrowed far into his. It would be good for him to have another man with whom he could be friends. Leonard had, perhaps, spent too much time seeing to me and my affairs - this might be the opportunity for him to spread his wings a little. Or a lot, if he should so choose. It was a strange fact, but even though Leonard was a few years older than I, I had got into the habit of thinking of him almost as a younger brother. It was a habit, I thought, that I should break.

I finished with the cards and John finished with the shower; we traded places. On the night-stand beside the bed there was a book that had not been there before. I picked it up. It was an old, slim volume that looked as though it had come from an open-air market and suffered badly from the vagaries of exposure to far too much direct sunlight; I recognised it as the one John had been reading a few days before. Its leather cover was tattered, the gold lettering so worn away that it was barely legible. The piece of ribbon that acted as a marker was thin and faded and frayed at the end. I opened it at the place where it had been laid and was greeted by that indescribable yet unmistakable aroma that comes from an old book: as though the essences of all its previous owners have been inscribed into its pages.

The words that I read there were known to me but then, sitting on the bed in a hotel in Havana, with my husband - this strange, beautiful man whom I barely knew yet knew so well - moving around in the room next door, they made far greater sense than they ever had before. They were no longer simply a lovely sentiment expressed by a skilled poet: they were the intimate exchange between two lovers, between John and I. I put the book back where I had found it, leaving it open at the place he had meant for me to read; when I came back after showering, the book had gone.

ooOoo

If you have ever been to the Bronx Zoo - or, indeed, any zoo - and have seen the lions in their enclosures, you might have some idea of the sight that greeted me when I returned to the sitting-room. John was pacing: he had a caged, restless air and he had evidently been running his hands through his hair - tawny tufts stood up in odd places. I watched him for a moment, the way his shoulders rolled when he moved.

'You'll wear a path in that carpet.'

He stopped and looked at me - and his expression changed from leonine to something more sheepish. 'Habit of mine - I should cut it out.'

'I've been known to pace myself on occasion - as long as we don't crash into each other we should be fine. Or I could pace with you. The couple that paces together... I can't think of anything that rhymes.'

He laughed slightly. 'If you manage to think of a second half we'll take it up as our slogan.'

I sat down; John was still standing and after a moment his feet started moving again, unconsciously I think. 'So. Where do we begin today?'

'I don't know.' John stopped pacing; he faced me and his eyes were wary and haggard. 'I wish you'd stop looking at me like that.'

'Like what?'

'Like you expect me to know what I'm doing.'

I raised my eyebrows. 'Don't you?'

'No, I don't. In case you hadn't noticed, I haven't had a clue since this whole thing started. I don't know if I'm making things better or worse.'

'I've never heard you talk like this before.' The things that I had seen his face during those quiet hours of night while he slept and I had watched, those things that he kept so well hidden, were there, revealed without pretence.

He passed a hand over his face. 'Yeah, well, you better get used to it; this is me most days. I'm not a detective, Della.'

'That's not what it says on your licence.'

'That doesn't mean much; pretty much anyone can apply for a detective's licence; you could get one.' The wariness in his eyes turned to mild panic. 'Don't get any ideas. Mike's the real deal - he's the one with the training and all the experience; I just get kept on to fill in the other half of the office. Do you think we could fly him down here?'

I stood up, walked across the room to him and put my arms around his shoulders. 'Oh dear; if you want Mike along on our honeymoon, I must be doing something terribly wrong.'

His arm went around my waist, pulled me closer, and one corner of his mouth turned up in that lazy smile that I had come to know so well. 'Trust me, you are doing everything right.'

'Mmm...' I studied him for a moment. The lines of his face were deep and set and the shadows under his eyes were blackened. 'You really are worried, aren't you? About Jack?'

He released a controlled breath. 'Yeah, about Jack; and you; God help me, I'm even worried about Mark.'

I straightened his tie, settling the thick knot between the stiff contours of his collar. 'Well, you can cross me off the list for a start: I'm a grown-up and I know what I'm doing; and Jack can look after himself-'

He grunted inelegantly. 'And look where that got him.'

'All right, you have a special dispensation for Jack. As for Mark...' I wrinkled my nose a little. 'Do we really want to worry about Mark?'

'Not even slightly.'

'That's what I thought; and I have the distinct impression that no matter what Mark will always land on his feet, just like a cat. So. You are only left with one out of the three and that's two-thirds less worry right there.'

John put his other arm around me, holding me in a circle. 'You have all the answers, don't you?'

'Some of them.'

His smile spread. 'You're a great comfort to a fella, you know that? We could get you set up with your own advice column.'

'My advice doesn't come that cheap and I don't give it away to just anyone.'

'Oh, I know, you're very discriminating.' His eyes danced. 'On second thoughts, I don't want to share you with anyone else after all.'

'That's just as well, really; it would seem that I have my work cut out giving out advice to you, especially if you carry on like this.'

'I know, I know, and I'm sorry; I got myself into this - and I dragged you along with me.'

I raised my eyebrows again. 'Goodness, someone has a high opinion of himself. You did not drag me anywhere - I was pacing right alongside you, remember?'

John shook his head slightly, took hold of my hand and kissed it. 'I remember, plaything.'

'Oh, I thought of one! The couple that paces together, goes places together. What do you think?'

His face said it all. 'Pretty lousy.'

I sighed. 'Yes, but it was all I could come up with that makes any sense.'

'It makes more sense than this case, I'll say that.'

'Where _do_ we go from here?'

'Start looking around for straws to clutch at, I guess. And then hope for the best.'

'It will work out,' I said firmly. 'You'll solve this - everyone knows that.'

His twisted slightly as though he were biting back the first words that came to his mind; he was sceptical. 'Then everyone needs their heads tested. If Jack's counting on me maybe you should teach him some of those - what are they? novenas?'

He was in earnest; I tilted my head back and took a clearer look at him. 'You really don't see it, do you?'

It was evident that he did not - he stared at me blankly. 'See what?'

'The effect you have on people.'

He was still blank. 'What effect?'

I shook my head slightly, placed my hands either side of his face and kissed him. The buzzer at the door sounded and I slipped out of his arms, leaving him standing in the middle of the room looking faintly bemused.

Our visitor was Jack and he greeted me cheerfully. 'Phil, you look a knock-out this morning!' He grinned at me, kissed my hand, then pulled my arm through his.

'How's your head feeling today?'

'Huh? Oh, that. It's fine. It would take a lot more than some skinny punk to put a dent in this.'

'Probably because it's solid bone from ear to ear,' John said as we reached the sitting-room.

Jack jerked his head in John's direction. 'He's jealous, see? Can't live up to my suave sophistication and charm.'

'Oh yeah, you give Cary Grant a run for his money.'

I have come to the conclusion that male friendships operate on a system of rules wholly different to those that govern any other form of human relationships. The greater the affection, the increase in traded insults - they seem to be in direct proportion. I had observed similar exchanges between John and Mike Garibaldi and they were, and are, as close friends as you could see.

We sat around the coffee-table, John and I on the couch and Jack in one of the big armchairs opposite.

'Would you like some coffee? I could ring down for some.'

Jack shook his head to my offer. 'Thanks, but I'm still working off the brew my landlady fed me this morning. I don't know what she puts in that stuff but I think I could probably power up my boat engine with it.' He took a cigarette, however, and sat back puffing contentedly.

'Have you heard anything more from your contact?' John asked.

'Nah. He's probably in the wind. If his crew didn't finish him off last night he'll lam out of Havana PDQ - if he's got any sense. I haven't heard from Mark, either - you?'

'No. But I guess that he's probably off doing what he does best: slinking off into the shadows and skulking.'

Jack blew out smoke and peered at John through it. 'So - what have you got in mind for today, shamus?'

'A couple of things,' John said easily, leaning back against the cushions with no sign of discomfort or doubt. 'I had a thought about that warehouse of Sandoval's - it might be worth a look around.'

'How you figure?'

John shrugged. 'I don't - but it can't hurt.

'Uh-huh.' Jack scratched his chin. 'So, that's where we're headed now? It'll be pretty busy around there this time; you know that, right?'

'That's why I thought of going tonight.'

'Ah, I get it - more night manoeuvres.' Jack looked at me and inclined his head towards John. 'Your boy's a glutton for punishment.'

'So it would seem.'

Jack put out his cigarette in the marble tray, leaned back and laced his fingers together behind his head. 'Okay, so if a little light breaking and entering is off the table for daylight hours, what's the plan?'

'I...' John's profile had a hard, resolute look that I neither liked nor trusted; a suspicion started gnawing away all along my spine. 'I have something to do.'

'I'll bet.' Jack narrowed his eyes at my husband. 'You're going to go see a certain Ernesto Vargas, aren't you?'

'I thought I might.'

'And just what on earth do you think will be the good of that?'

John turned slightly to face me. 'I'd like to meet the man face-to-face. I have a few messages of my own I'd like to pass along.' He smiled a little and it was not a pleasant one. 'Only I like to deliver mine in person.'

'I see.' I thought about this for a moment. 'In that case, I should go with you.'

'What? -No, Della, I-I don't that that's a very good idea.'

'I disagree, I think it's a very good idea.' I stood and walked towards the bedroom. 'Just give me a moment to get my hat and purse and then we can leave.'

'Della-'

I kept walking. I heard Jack's voice say something but it was too muffled for me to hear the words - but then, very distinctly, I heard the door behind me close and the lock click on the other side.

_TBC_


	15. Chapter 15

**ooOoo**

**15**

**ooOoo**

Jack stared at me, mouth hanging open.

'Give it twenty minutes,' I told him, 'then let her out. But don't let her go anywhere.'

He looked from me to the locked door: a small eruption roughly on the scale of the one that did for Hiroshima was taking place on the other side. I thought it possible that the door might not actually last twenty minutes; I also thought that perhaps it would only be fair to warn Jack that Della still had that gun in her purse and by all accounts she knew how to use it - but I figured he was old enough to start fending for himself.

'You-you can't-' He looked stricken and swallowed hard. I don't think I've ever seen a man turn quite so white before. He looked like a waxwork. 'Johnny, you can't leave me here ... alone ... with her...'

'Look, I won't be long - all you have to do is make sure that she doesn't get herself into trouble until I get back.'

'I-'

In between the banging I could hear a few words that Della wouldn't own up to knowing if you'd call her on it to her face. I felt sort of sorry for Jack that he'd be the one who'd have to handle her, but not that sorry. I grabbed my hat.

'Adios, amigo.'

ooOoo

El Corazón was the sort of place that in the trade would be known by the technical term of 'clip-joint'. It looked the business from the outside: potted palms flanked the door, the awning was fresh, and it had its name over the door in nice neon lettering that would probably look great come sundown.

It was still the place for low-level hoodlums playing at respectability, for the high-society types playing at slumming, and the good-time girls who plastered on the make-up to try and hide all the cracks in their brittle, well-used surfaces.

Ruben had told me that Vargas had a set of apartments adjoining the office over the club. Whatever they paid Ruben at that hotel, it wasn't enough.

No-one challenged me at the door; inside it was still, with that air of expectancy that places have when a crowd of people are usually there but aren't right then. There was a waiter - or a someone - whistling in one of the back-rooms. I went down the steps onto the main floor, crossed it, slipped through the door that stood open behind the unmanned bar and found myself in a bare corridor with a couple of doors either side and another one at the end. That was the one I headed for, pushed it open and found a neat, quiet courtyard with a flight of railed wooden steps that led up to a balcony and a long suite of rooms. I went up the steps and when I reached the top there was the muffled sound of voices coming from further along; I followed the voices to their source - an open door that gave onto a cool, shaded interior and a man sitting behind a large desk that looked like mahogany and like he was trying too hard to impress. He was giving instructions to a large man who stood looking awkward in a suit that didn't quite fit him across the shoulders.

'Is this a private party or can anyone join?' I looked at the guy behind the desk. 'I guess this makes you the party-boy - Ernesto Vargas, yes?'

Mr Big made a movement with his hand and the big bruno came lumbering at me. His face had that heavy, fixed look of a man who is used to breaking heads and will happily break yours for you without breaking a sweat. But he was what I had been expecting and I was ready for him. This wasn't like last night, dancing in the dark with some street punk who gets all his best moves from the movies and gets to you because he's caught you off guard: this was simple and clean and easy. It doesn't matter how big the guy is when you're ready for him - he'll still go down.

He came at me and his big paws reached out; I let him get a hold, just enough for me to use as leverage when I threw myself against him. He made a rushing gurgling sound and his knees sagged. I got my hands either side of his head, twisted it enough that he could feel the strain, and he didn't move.

Behind his desk, Vargas still sat and he watched the show with no emotion; he could have been going to a prize fight that he hadn't even bothered to bet on, just watching for the hell of it.

'Call your boy off or I might snap his neck if my hands slip.'

His lips twitched. 'It would seem that you have called him off yourself.'

'I like to keep things official - there's less mess that way. Call him off and tell him to get lost.'

Vargas leaned back in his chair, one of those big leather jobs favoured by executives and politicians. 'And for what would I tell him this? You might give me the same treatment.'

'I just came here to talk. Call off your goon here, we can have our conversation, and then I'll go. And you'll still be drawing breath.'

His lips tightened when he thought about it. 'Miguel!'

The guy named Miguel rolled his eyes in his boss' direction and stayed very still while he got his instructions.

'You can let him go: I have told him to leave us and to leave you alone - I hope that this is enough.'

'It'll do.'

I let Miguel go; he handed me a look that was pure venom, it dripped from his black eyes and he looked hard at my face. I had no doubt that he'd know me again. He left, walking slowly and heavily along the balcony and down the wooden steps. I took a few steps of my own inside and was stopped by a low, throaty laugh.

'That was beautiful, darling, do it again.'

'Shut up, Christiane.'

I hadn't noticed the girl at first, the one who owned that husky guttural voice: she'd been shielded by the door but she'd been able to see the whole thing. And when I did notice her she was worth a second look. She had one of those chiselled, Teutonic faces that combines harshness and beauty at the same time. Ash-blonde hair was pulled back and her slanted eyes were lazy, and knowing, and cruel. A few more years and she'd fit right in with the rest of the sex-ridden hags up at the Country Club. She raised a long ebony cigarette-holder to her painted lips, took in a deep breath of smoke and blew it out in a long stream. She kept her eyes on me, a gaze that was cool and appraising, and her mouth curved.

Vargas ignored her and watched me. 'You have my attention, señor - what is it you want?'

'I just wanted to thank you for giving my wife a lift last night.'

His face cleared. 'Ah. You are Señor Sheridan.'

'I am Señor Sheridan,' I agreed.

He made a sweep with his hand. 'Please, sit down.'

I crossed the room and stood behind the chair opposite his. The blonde hard-knock still lolled on the couch smoking and watching us.

'Do you mind asking the lady to leave?'

He turned to her and pulled his lips back from his teeth. 'Get lost.'

He had a way with words all right; she scowled at him but unfolded herself from the couch. She was long and lean and moved with the studied lack of self-consciousness that women like her have when they're used to being looked at. I looked at her but with about as much interest as I look at the penguins in Central Park Zoo but with a great deal less affection. She arranged herself in the doorway on the way out, looking back at us, and blew out another plume of smoke - almost as though someone had once said the words 'dragon-lady' to her and she had decided to take it literally. Her eyes raked over the both of us and then she left, taking a cloud of perfume with her. The very expensive kind. It was the same that Della's sister wore. That had to make her his girl, I thought, and if that was how he treated his established lovers, I hated to think how he treated the rest.

Vargas rearranged his face, coaxing himself into looking like what he wanted to be instead of what he was: a cheap hoodlum made good in an expensive suit. He had a little more guts than the usual type, I'd say that. He was prepared to meet me alone - although, I had no doubt that his boy Miguel had gone to round up the posse and they'd be waiting, just in case. I sat down in the chair across from him.

'Can I offer you a drink?'

'I won't be here that long.'

He made a show of being at his ease: offering me a cigar from the big beaten-silver box on the desk, then sitting back and puffing away while he lit one for himself. I let him get on with it and then sat, silent, until he was done. The silence stretched out. He looked at me. I showed him some teeth. He shifted around on his chair some more and I got the impression that suddenly it wasn't quite as comfortable as it had been. I sat back in mine and went on waiting - I had all day and I was starting to enjoy watching him squirm. He sat forward.

'Your wife is a most charming companion,' he said, his cigar rammed hard between his teeth.

'And that's right out of the scum-bag's handbook. I'm not here to fence words - I just came to tell you something; but unlike you when I have something to say to someone I prefer to say it to their faces.'

'Last night with Señora Sheridan was perhaps a ... miscalculation ... on my part.'

I still looked at him. He took the cigar out of his mouth.

'And this is where you tell me that if I go near your wife again I will live to regret it, yes?'

Slowly, I shook my head. 'No. You won't live to regret anything. Go near my wife again and you won't live.' I shrugged. 'It's simple. I've been told that you're a man who deals in facts and that is a fact. And I don't make idle threats.'

Ash fell softly from the end of his cigar. 'I see.' He took in a breath and let it out; he had a look as though he weren't quite as at ease as he'd like to show. 'And is there something else?'

'I'd like to know how you knew where to find my wife.'

'Are you sure that I cannot get for you a drink?'

He'd showed me his teeth so I showed him mine. 'I'm sure.'

He shrugged. 'You had a question?'

'Look, I'm not in the mood for a fan-dance; I don't even particularly want to get tough with you - although, God knows that you'd be first on the list right about now. I'll ask the question again, once, and that's the last time I'll ask it politely: how did you know where to find her last night?'

Vargas hadn't moved during my little speech but I had the distinct impression that he was not the sort of man who was accustomed to being on the receiving end of a speech, so it had to be stinging. But he took it pretty good. He took another pull on his cigar. 'There was a phone-call.'

'From Los Cipreses?'

'Of course.'

'And who made this phone-call?'

His shoulders went up less than an inch and came down again. 'I cannot say.'

'Does that mean that you can't or that you won't?'

'I cannot.' He examined the end of his cigar and picked up the heavy lighter from his desk. 'I do not know his name.'

His name - well, that answered one question. I stood up. Vargas got distracted from his quest to get his cigar going and looked up at me. 'You leave?'

'I leave.'

He frowned. 'You are a very strange man.'

'Don't let it keep you up nights.'

I left him sitting behind his big mahogany desk, scowling at his smouldering cigar. I found my own way out. The girl Christiane had got herself nicely arranged at the bar, all set up with a drink; her long, slanted eyes got fixed on me when I walked past her.

'Miguel is not happy.'

'That's tough for Miguel.'

She laughed in her throat, her head tilted back. 'Buy me a drink.'

'You've already got one - it's not good for a girl to have too many.'

She stared at me so hard her eyes nearly crossed, then she leant forward and put her hand on my arm and let me admire the long nails painted to match her mouth. 'I hoped that you might keep me company.'

It was a line so old and so worn out it needed crutches to keep it going - but maybe no-one had told her that.

'You can go back to your registered keeper and tell him no dice.' Her face twisted and I tipped my hat at her. 'Nice meeting you.'

Back out on the streets of Old Havana I drew a clear breath and tried to clear my head. My hands were shaking slightly and I thought that Ernesto Vargas would probably never know just how close he had come to having his face rearranged for him. I took a few paces along the street and almost bumped into a skinny guy coming at me in the other direction. We danced around each other for a moment.

'Sorry- Mr Sandoval.'

The kid's eyes were still very black and he looked at me with surprise and then recognition and then wariness. 'Señor Sheridan.'

We stood in the middle of the street and watched each other, waiting for who would blink first. The sun was hot against the back of my neck; the tips of his fingers beat against the side of his leg and then he took a step closer.

'I am glad for this meeting.'

'Oh? I wouldn't have thought that you'd be wanting to see me again anytime soon.'

'I have wished to apologise,' he said. 'I was not very polite.'

I shrugged. 'Under the circumstances I don't think there was any reason why you should have been.'

'Perhaps.' I got a white flash of teeth. 'But you and your wife were guests in my home; I hope that you will pass along my apology and also my very best wishes to Señora Sheridan.'

'I'll do that. And I'm sure that my wife would want to send her greetings to your sister.'

He inclined and his head and there was not a flicker across his face, nothing to show that he knew anything of the interview the night before.

'Jack Maynard has been released.'

'Ah. The police no longer believe he is guilty?'

'He's been bailed, but they don't have any more evidence than they did before.'

Ignacio nodded. 'This does not mean that he is innocent.' He didn't sound vicious, he didn't sound much of anything. He squinted against the sun.

'I know you probably don't believe it - maybe you don't even want to hear it - but Jack is innocent.'

He was silent and the street noises were very clear: loud conversations, the undulating rhythm of a girl's voice singing in a nearby cafe, passing motorcars. 'I hope that this is true, señor' His lips quirked. 'Whether you believe that or not: I hope that it is true.'

He bowed, a short movement from the waist, and walked on. I went back to where I'd left the car, got in, and pointed it in the direction of the Nacional.

_TBC_


	16. Chapter 16

**ooOoo**

**16**

**ooOoo**

'Will you please stop dancing around like that?' I took a step to the side in an attempt to by-pass Jack. He mirrored the movement, his hands raised in the air, uncertainly, but not touching me. He looked harried.

'Look, I don't like this anymore than you do-'

'Ha! I doubt that.'

'-But John asked me to keep you here, in the hotel room, until he got back. It wasn't so much a request as an order.'

'I thought that _you_ were _his_ commanding officer.'

'I was,' he said glumly, 'and in the normal scheme of things it would flow the other way; but me being his C.O. was back some ways and even then I knew better than to cross him when he was in a mood like that.'

I made another attempt at evasion and was blocked once more. It was becoming wearisome. I did not believe that Jack would actually lay his hands on me if it came to it - but I was not quite sure that I wanted to put that theory to the test, just in case I was wrong. 'Jack, I appreciate your loyalty to John and I even find your endeavours to handle me endearing - but I refuse to simply sit here idly, like some maiden in a tower in a Mediaeval romance, while my husband runs himself into God knows what sort of danger. Now let me by.'

'So you can go running yourself into danger?' Jack stopped his footwork; he planted himself squarely and something of the easiness of his demeanour left him. 'Della, I've already had to give John the worst news he's had in his life once before; I really don't want to have to do it again. I don't think that he'd come back from it this time.'

I caught my breath. 'That- That's a very low blow.'

He shrugged, heartless. 'That's as may be but I'll do what it takes. Look, I understand, I do; but having the pair of you running around Havana... You're as bad as each other. John's no fool. He might fly of the handle now and again but he thinks things through before he does something. But if he gets back and finds you gone again... I don't think my nerves would stand it. You're a nice lady, you consider other people - do it for me. Don't let me wake up tomorrow with more silver in my hair than there is already.'

'You're handling me again.'

He grinned. 'I am - is it working?'

I made myself smile at him. 'A little.'

I sat on the couch; my hands were restless; every sound that came through the window or from the corridor beyond the suite sounded too loud; I was getting the fidgets and I despise that state of being: it is a wasteful indulgence of nerves. I screwed a cigarette into my holder to give my hands something to do and allowed Jack to light it for me. The smoke tasted thin and bitter.

Jack lit his own cigarette and arranged himself in his chair; his hands also were restless: they beat a steady _ostinato _against the seat-cushion. 'It'll all be fine, Phil. You know what he's like when he gets like this.'

'Do I?' The skin on my lips had become dry and cracked from the sea-air and the salt; they felt rough under my fingers. And in that moment I was aware of the crushing enormity of all the things that I did not know about the man I had married. Jack's head inclined to one side and his bright gaze was on me. I did not return it.

'Aw, c'mon - you're telling me he's never got himself all bent out of shape over something in all the time you've known him? Or maybe he's just been trying to play it cool 'til he got everything signed and sealed. It must've been pretty quiet around your way if you've never seen him worked up before.'

'We met in April,' I said quietly.

'Huh.' He ran a thumb along the line of his jaw. 'He's managed to behave for a whole year?'

I studied the end of my cigarette and the thin paper slowly burning away from the compact grey ash. 'I meant this April.'

I felt him staring at me; I looked up. I would surmise that Jack Maynard is rarely rendered incapable of speech - he is a man who has, no doubt, seen many things and possibly done most others. He took another draw on his cigarette and seemed to take the smoke further into his lungs than was possible according to the principles of biology. 'This April. You mean... You mean as in last month?'

'I do.'

He swallowed more of the smoke and his cigarette had been reduced to an end so short that he appeared to be in danger of searing his fingers. He extinguished the remnants in the ash-tray. 'Y'know, I can see John nearly killing himself to hustle you down the aisle, but what the hell did a nice girl like you want marrying him?'

'It's what all the society girls are doing these days, had you not heard?'

Jack breathed heavily down his nose and linked his fingers together across his stomach. 'No I hadn't - and even if I had it's no reason for you to start talking like one. I didn't mean anything by it.'

'I know. I'm sorry, Jack. It isn't you, I know that. I think that I've just started to realise that to most people outside of John and myself, what has happened must seem very sudden and rather odd.'

'Odd? Nah.' Jack fanned both his hands at me. 'If I wasn't already hipped elsewhere I'd try to marry you myself.'

'Don't you think that the fact that I am married already might prove problematic there?'

His eyes snapped. 'We could work something out.'

It is not possible not to smile at Jack; admittedly, I have not actually tried not to - not for very long, at any rate; and I see no particular reason for trying for any prolonged period - and I did not then. His smile was returned and I was left once more with the reflection that the sense of solidarity I had experienced of late had emanated almost completely from the circle of people that John termed his friends, and the very opposite of that state almost without exception from my family. From those people with whom I claim kindred I had received disapproval, sometimes scorn and on occasion pity; Maya had been the only one who was truly and without reservation happy for me; and Nero, in his gruff grudging manner, had shared that happiness if only for Maya's sake.

That things should stand as such came as no surprise: it merely confirmed the sorry truth of the narrow minds and prejudices of my legitimate family.

The truth in the old adage that one may choose one's friends but not one's family had become very real to me. I had not, perhaps, chosen exactly my friends over the last few weeks - we seemed to have adopted one another. The warmth and loyalty from Mike and Susan and now Jack said as much for John as it did for them. I was truly glad of it and of them.

And with that my thoughts had turned back, inevitably, to John and his self-imposed errand. The man was impossible - it had not taken me this long to realise that fact, the truth of it had been manifest from the start.

ooOoo

Minutes had crawled by ever since Jack had released me and I had felt the hammer of every single one. When the door unlocked, I started. John strode into the room, looking as unconcerned as though he had simply stepped out for a moment. My fidgets were replaced by a hotter, darker emotion. I glared at him.

'You double-crossing, low-down, no-good rat!'

John tilted his head and crinkled his eyes and grinned at me. I felt like clawing his face.

'She give you any trouble?' he asked Jack.

'She has not gone deaf,' I said stiffly.

'It's been fine,' Jack told him, and looked a little relieved that he was no longer having to perform the task of baby-sitter.

John wandered across, moving with ease, and sat beside me.

'Miss me?'

'I'm not talking to you.'

He laughed softly. 'You know, plaything, if you're not talking to someone it sort of spoils the effect when you actually tell them this. Would you like a drink?'

I would have liked one very much.

'No.'

John laughed again, stood, walked across to the drinks cabinet and said over his shoulder, 'Jack?'

Jack ran a hand through his hair. 'Yeah, and build it extra-strong.'

John came back, put a glass on the table on front of Jack, walked around it and held out a glass to me. I did not take it: I looked up at him wordlessly.

'You really are very lovely when you're angry,' he said.

'I am not angry, merely disgusted. And you are a louse.' I took the glass.

'If you two are going to start dancing around the maypole together, just let me know and I'll let myself out.'

'There's no need for that,' I told Jack politely, then turned my gaze back to my husband. 'And absolutely no chance whatsoever.' I took the glass, took some of the drink and felt my nerves begin to uncoil.

'You saw Vargas, huh?' Jack had his glass - already nearly empty - clamped between his hands.

'I did.'

'What did you think of him?'

John considered this for a moment. 'He's no fool. He knows when to make a move and he knows when to back down. I wouldn't fancy playing chess with him.'

'Somehow I don't think that chess is his game,' I said.

'You may be right there. Your ice is looking lonesome in that glass, buddy - you want a refill?'

'Do I ever.' Jack took himself across to the drinks tray, replaced the depleted contents of his glass and came back.

'I don't suppose that he did anything convenient like confess to murder?' I was not particularly hopeful but I asked anyway.

One corner of John's mouth quirked at me. 'If only.' He outlined the conversation that had taken place and while I was certain that everything he repeated was accurate, I was also quite sure that the encounter would have been far more colourful than John was making it sound. Perhaps that was because, despite everything, I had a fairly good idea of what his moods and reactions to thing were; or perhaps it was because as he spoke one hand kept flexing unconsciously.

'So,' Jack said, 'you haven't crossed him off your list of suspects?'

John put his glass on the table; droplets of condensation ran down the side. 'I'm not crossing anybody off; at the moment our list of suspects doubles as the Havana phone-book, everybody's on it: Vargas, Ignacio, Estevez, Ryland, Rosa, you, me, Della...'

'He says the sweetest things,' I told Jack; he grinned back at me. I turned my attention back to John and adopted an attitude that was both inquisitive and demanding. 'Well? Now what do we do?'

He shrugged lightly. 'Not a lot. Lunch sounds good - you want to stick around for that?'

Jack glanced at me and the corners of his mouth worked. 'Two phrases spring to mind: "third wheel", and "buffer zone".'

'There's no need,' I said calmly. 'I hope you do have lunch with us.'

'Great.' John stood up.

'Not just yet. -Jack, would you mind giving us a moment?'

His bright eyes slipped between us and out of the corner of mine I could see John's shoulders stiffen.

'Sure. I'll, uh, I'll be ... elsewhere. In the lobby.' He got up and wandered past John. 'Brother, good luck.'

I stood, crossed to the open windows and took a few breaths of air. It was pure and heady. The door closed behind Jack; after a moment, and we were quite alone, I turned to John. 'I ought to scratch your eyes out.'

He offered me a smile but his eyes were still wary. 'At least you're talking to me again.'

'Perhaps - but you are still a louse. I can't believe you did that. I've never been so humiliated - being locked in a cupboard...'

'It wasn't a cupboard, it was a whole big room; it even has a window.'

'I don't care! I don't give a damn if it was the Taj Mahal! You had no right to do that. Just what the hell did you think you were doing?'

He was silent; then: 'I thought that if I had to be there and see that Vargas character looking at you there was a pretty good chance I'd kill him right there. And I've seen the inside of a Cuban jail cell and not that I don't think you're worth it but it's not how I'd planned on spending the next few weeks.'

He said the words lightly enough but there was weight behind them. I moistened my lips. 'You would not have killed him.'

'Oh?' He raised his eyebrows. 'I wish that I could be so sure of that; I came pretty close to slugging him and making it count - don't worry, I didn't lay a hand on him.'

'Good. I wouldn't want you to, not for me.'

John tilted his head and looked at me closely and there was amusement in his eyes. 'I thought that women were supposed to want their men running around breaking heads on their account.'

At that egregious statement I raised my eyebrows at him and took a breath that held onto the edge of disapproval. 'What sort of women have you been consorting with?'

'Consorting - that's a great word. I think I need to use that more often; I'll try to drop it into the conversation next time I see your Aunt Dorothy.'

'Stop changing the subject.' It's become a sort of game we play: one-upmanship with words and phrases and being endlessly inventive in the ways of saying what we what mean without really saying it at all. 'And what about tonight?'

John took his cigarette case out, opened it, and took his time about selecting one. He tapped the end against the back of the case. 'What about it?' I waited until he had lit it and replaced the case in his breast-pocket and had to look back at me.

'I mean about going to the warehouse tonight. You're going with Jack, aren't you?'

His hand moved, writing a fine silver trail on the air. 'That's the idea.'

'And what about me?'

He started to say something and then stopped. I really ought to have clawed his eyes out.

'You're not leaving me behind again.' I was glad of the fact that I sounded so calm, that I was able to say the words without sounding like some hysterical ... woman. 'John, we're either in this together, you and I, all of it - or we're not in it at all. And if we're not... If we're not then I don't know what will happen to us.'

He put out the cigarette in the ashtray, crushing it down into a pathetic crumpled mass of paper and ash. 'I know that.'

'Do you not trust me?'

His head raised quickly and he was appalled. 'Of course I trust you. I'd trust you with my life.'

'You think me incapable, then?'

'It's not that. I know you're not incapable' -there was warmth in his eyes again- 'but that doesn't stop me wanting to ... protect you. Whether you want me to or not. I know it's not logical, it's not even practical. But then love isn't logical, is it?'

I had my hands around the edge of the back of a chair and I held onto it, holding myself there, away from him. 'No. I suppose it would be more convenient if it were.'

He smiled. 'But a hell of a lot less fun.' The smile faded a little and he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, sending up the tufts again and they glinted tawny in the sunlight. 'I can't promise that my feelings won't get in the way again where you're concerned - but I'll try.'

'And so tonight?'

'That bird who said that three's a crowd was bughouse.'

I went to him then and smoothed down his hair. 'You're still a louse.'

'I know.'

'And next time there won't be a scene, I won't say a word about any of it - I'll just start putting broken glass in your coffee.'

He laughed, softly, huskiness in his throat. 'That sounds fair. While we're negotiating terms is there anything else you want?'

'Yes: kiss me.'

ooOoo

We found Jack in the lobby, leaning against a pillar, looking as though he belonged there, and talking away to Ruben. Ruben looked animated, his black eyes snapping and I surmised that in Jack he had found another hero - not that John had been usurped: when Ruben saw us his grin broadened.

'Hey there, Ruben.'

'Hello, John.' He sounded as though he had been practising. 'Buenas tardes, Señora.'

'Buenas tardes. Are you back at work already?'

He sighed tragically. 'Sí. Always, back at work. It is not much fun.'

'I think that's why they call it work,' Jack said.

Ruben nodded wisely. Then his head turned and he sucked in a breath, his eyes lowering. 'I must go.' His rolled his eyes in the direction of a dapper little man who was the hotel manager and who was giving black looks in our direction - I was not certain as to whether they were aimed at Ruben or the rest of us. Ruben scuttled away, his progress followed by his employer and then the gaze was returned to us.

'Does he want something?' John asked, staring back openly until the manager drifted away.

'Possibly for us to pay our bill and leave,' I replied. 'I believe that we've been classified as problem guests ever since that small matter of attempted murder.'

'Huh? Whoa, what's the deal? What've you two been holding out on?'

John rewarded me with a pained expression. 'It's nothing. Just something that happened with some guy. Ward Warren.'

'Warren, Warren...' Jack snapped his fingers. 'That screwy-looking hack that works for the _Post_?'

'That's the one.'

Jack's grin was malevolent. 'What did you do to him? C'mon, brother, spill - and don't leave anything out.'

John was in an indulgent mood. 'I'll tell you over lunch.'

'Okay. Hey, I know this great fish restaurant about half-an-hour from here.'

Indulgence slipped effortlessly to wariness. 'When you say restaurant do you actually mean shack-on-beach?'

Jack's answer was slow in coming. 'Well... Yes, technically you could probably call it a shack. But the fish is damn good. And the rum isn't bad, either.'

'You know what they say, darling: when in Cuba...'

John sighed. 'You're like a couple of conspirators. I'll get the car.' He paused. 'Try not to get into any trouble for five minutes.'

We watched him walk across the lobby. 'Y'know, I should feel insulted by comments like that,' Jack remarked thoughtfully.

I smiled. 'I'm sure that you're more than able to hold your own.'

'Yeah, well...'

We spent a happy few moments watching the passers-by, then two figures detached themselves from the crowd and stopped in front of us.

'Mrs Sheridan - such a pleasure to see you again.' Ambassador Ryland displayed his charming smile and bowed over my hand. He held onto it for a little longer than was necessary; I reclaimed it firmly. He gestured gracefully to his companion. 'I'm not sure if you know...'

'We've met.' I nodded to her. 'Mrs Van Buren.'

Her lips curved then opened and she purred. 'Della, how lovely. And aren't you looking radiant today.'

'May I introduce Major Maynard. Jack, this is Ambassador Richard Ryland and Mimi Van Buren.'

The Ambassador's face immediately expressed keen interest and he shook Jack's hand. 'Ah! It's a pleasure to meet you at last. I trust that your confinement wasn't too unpleasant. I'm sorry that we were not able to intervene earlier.'

Jack inclined his head slightly and arranger a small, tight smile on his lips that stopped well short of his eyes. 'I have no complaints; and I wasn't expecting anyone's intervention.'

The two men considered one another. One of the bell-hops approached us and murmured something into the Ambassador's ear discreetly; he listened without changing his expression, nodded, and turned his attention back to us as the messenger melted away again. 'If you'll excuse me - Mimi, my dear, I'll leave you with Mrs Sheridan and the major. It will give you a chance to catch-up.'

She murmured back at him prettily and I waited, resigned, for her opening gambit. Jack would be the pawn, I realised, when she ran her gaze over him and something in her eyes sparked.

'We've all been very eager to meet you, Major.'

Jack shifted, uncomfortable and suspicious. 'Oh?'

'Of course!' Her gaze swept around, an exaggerated performance. 'Is Mr Sheridan not with you?'

'Not at this precise second,' I replied, 'as you can see.'

Mimi Van Buren curved her lips again and looked at me. 'My dear. It really is so sweet of you to ... entertain ... your husband's friend.' She wagged a finger playfully at Jack. 'I do hope that you aren't wearing her out.'

He stared at her.

'We're having a drinks party at the club tonight,' she continued, 'it would be such fun if you could attend ... _all_ of you.'

'Mrs Van Buren-' I took a breath. 'Let me make something clear to you if it isn't already: you and I do not know one another; I have no desire to know you; there is no acquaintance to pursue. Should we happen to pass one another again, please do not feel the need for a greeting: it will not be welcome and it will not be returned.'

Her mouth opened, closed, and her eyes hardened. She stretched a thin smile across her face. 'Of course. You know, you really are very like your mother; I suppose that it's very fortunate that both you and your ... sister ... took after her. People will talk...'

It was a moment before I realised the implication of what she was saying; if it had not been so pathetic her ridiculous vindictiveness would have been laughable. I saw John's figure in the doorway, and I took Jack's arm. 'Good-bye, Mrs Van Buren.'

'Just who the hell is she?' Jack demanded, looking back over his shoulder.

'She isn't anyone,' I said, 'she really isn't anyone at all.'

ooOoo

'This is lovely a area, isn't it? I can practically hear the chains rattling. Do you believe in ghosts?'

'No. I believe in skeletons.' John drew a key of the same name out of his pocket and winked at me.

'You clown.'

It was after sundown but not all that late: our afternoon had passed in a pleasant blur, greatly aided by the food and the rum that were both, as Jack had assured us, excellent; after only a little discussion it had been decided that our delving into activities that could not strictly speaking be termed legal should occur late enough that the warehouse area down by the quayside would be deserted, but not so late that what John delicately termed 'illegitimate nocturnal transactions' would taking place around us.

I daresay that such transactions also occur in daylight hours, and are no more legitimate then, but I surmised that it was not the wisest idea to point this out.

Jack was keeping look-out while John picked the lock; he leant against the wall, his hand burrowed in his pockets, and he would glance from one end of the narrow alley to the other on occasion. I had always been of the opinion that a look-out should show more signs of being alert - but Jack was adamant that an air of nonchalance was the key to being inconspicuous in these matters. I showed willing by deferring to his avowed expertise in this area. The lock turned under John's manipulations and the door swung open, a dark gaping mouth in the wall. We filed in. Jack produced a flashlight and its beam arced around the vast enclosure. It was very dark and very quiet; the air was musty. There was rustling sound nearby, a scurrying in the dark and I started involuntarily and bumped into John.

'What was that?'

'Probably a rat. You could always go and wait in the car if you don't like 'em...' There was a hopeful note in his voice that was almost pitiful.

'I like rats. I used to have one for a pet - I named him John.'

He laughed softly and reached back to take hold of my hand; he squeezed it, then let it go.

'Are there any lights in this place?'

'Isn't that taking a risk?' Jack asked.

The broad mass of John's shoulders moved up and down. 'Probably less risky than someone seeing a flashlight.'

Jack padded off and a moment later overhead light flared into life; they were dull bulbs suspended from the ceiling and their grudging illumination was less inviting and more sinister than the darkness and the single beam of torch-light had been.

The warehouse was like any other: a cavern containing crates and boxes and its air was dry and felt dusty. There was no office area that I could see.

'What is it we're looking for?'

'Baby, if I knew that I wouldn't have to look for it. Just keep an eye out for anything suspicious.'

And with that directive, we parted forces. I wandered along aisles and on occasion heard footfalls of one of the two men. It was easy to track Jack's progress: he whistled a series of popular tunes including a particular ode to Texas, which was a source of amusement to me. And also raised the alarming possibility that John may not actually have been joking.

John located me after some time had passed and he looked disgruntled.

'Have you had any luck?'

'I found a couple of filing cabinets.'

'That's good!'

'They were empty.'

'Oh.'

'Unless you count the rodents.'

I winced. 'I don't think that I wanted to know that.'

His eyes glittered. 'I thought you liked rats.'

'Only the two-footed kind. And that could change.'

He sighed and ran a hand over his hair. 'How about you?'

I shrugged. 'No, not anything, I'm afraid. I found a couple of open crates' -I pointed to the boxes behind him- 'but there's nothing in them but ceramics. They're rather gaudy. In fact, they're downright ugly. I can't imagine who would want to buy them but I suppose that there must be a market for them somewhere. The paper they're wrapped in is probably worth more.'

John picked up one of the ceramic plates and examined it; he put it back hopelessly and rubbed the smooth paper surrounding it between his fingers. He looked thoughtful.

'Anything?' I asked hopefully.

He shook his head. 'No. We should go. Jack. Hey, Jack! We're splitting.'

A cheerful burst of whistling was the response; Jack opted for a variation on a theme: _The Yellow Rose of Texas_ guided us towards the door, and we left.

_TBC_


	17. Chapter 17

**ooOoo**

**17**

**ooOoo**

Señor Luis was doing what he did best: standing guard over his crowded domain and playing at being everyone's idea of a host at a small bar in a Latin country. The thing was though that I couldn't shake the feeling that Luis wasn't really playing at it. It didn't matter anyhow. We walked down the old wooden stairs to the main floor of the club and he split his face in two grinning at us. He pumped Jack's hand, tried to dislocate my shoulder for me, and then showed Della the gold in his teeth. I think he'd given it an extra polish.

'It's crowded tonight,' Della said indistinctly, bringing her lips close to my ear. 'I wonder if it's a special occasion.'

'Sure it is,' I said back, 'they knew you were coming.'

Whatever she said after that was lost on a roar of voices and music. The band was giving it their all and the customers were giving it right back; it didn't just feel like a party, it was like a carnival. I decided not to think for a while; I decided to see what it would be like not to worry at and about something for the rest of the night. I decided not to make any more decisions and just take it all as it comes. Jack was waving his hands at me.

'Huh?'

'Ibrahim!' He pointed over at the bar: sure enough the kid was propped up there, still with his straw hat balanced on his head, and his eyes half-closed. Ibrahim wasn't the bird to let a little thing like a good time get in the way of some shut-eye. 'You kids keep yourselves entertained.' Jack fought his way across to the bar and discovered a few more friends on the way; they all looked mighty pleased to see him and I figured that it could be a while before he surfaced again. I took Della's hand and led her onto the dance-floor.

It was hot and crowded and I held her close to me and thought that so far my 'not thinking' plan was going pretty well. I won't bore you with details of the dance: some of the numbers were fast, some were slower but we kept up the pace with all of them. But I preferred the slower numbers.

'You know, you're a very good dancer,' Della murmured, her head against my shoulder.

'Baby, all men are - it's the only way we get to hold a girl this close in public without getting arrested.'

She made a sound like soft laughter: her breath was warm against the side of my neck, and then her lips.

'On the other hand, if you keep that up we really will get arrested.'

'I've never been arrested before,' she said and it was still a murmur and her lips were still soft and warm against my skin. It was murder. 'It might be quite an experience.'

'It would also mean separate cells,' I said. 'And all night on your own in a cell is a long time to spend in a cell on your own for a whole night.'

She made that sound again, but throatier, and it shivered through me all the way down to my toes. Never mind forty, I wouldn't make it to thirty-eight. When Della spoke up again her voice had lost that nice throbbing sigh it had had in it.

'John. Don't look now, but we've got a guest.'

I groaned. 'If it's who I think it is, don't tell me.'

She didn't say anything.

'Hell.' I got my brain to start again - grudgingly - and guided Della through the rest of the couples bobbing up and down to where Mark was lurking at a table set well back from the dance-floor and away from too much light. Jack had found his way over at around the same time we had and the three of us stood around and looked down at Mark. He gave us a bright smile.

'I thought I'd find you here. You weren't at the hotel.'

Damn me if he didn't manage to sound accusing about that.

'I forgot to get your permission before going out,' I said. Mark waved a hand.

'Quite all right. Sit down.'

Della squeezed my arm gently, as though she was afraid I'd slug him. Which I might have, to be honest, if only to teach him a lesson for being so damn annoying. We sat down.

'I thought you'd have scrammed,' Jack said. He looked like he was leaning back in his chair easily but he kept his eyes on Mark.

'Well, I might have ordinarily but there's still so much we don't know-'

'We don't know anything.'

'Ye-es... Yes, I suppose.' Mark frowned at him. 'I thought that you Yanks were supposed to be glass-half-full sort of chaps. You know - silver linings and all that.'

'That's just a myth,' I said. 'Too much good cheer is depressing. We prefer to get hold of a silver lining and then look around for a cloud.'

'Sounds exhausting. Anyway, as I was saying: resources are stretched a bit thin at present and my head office isn't too keen on pulling the plug on an operation that might still have some, uh, juice in it.'

Brits just love talking in metaphors - I remember that from when I was there.

Della leant forward, put her elbows on the table, and looked at him thoughtfully. 'And just what is it that you - that is, your head office - expects us to do?'

'Oh, they're not expecting anything from you at all.' He widened a smile at her. 'They don't really know anything about you.'

'I see.'

'It's nothing personal, but sometimes the higher-ups are best not knowing everything that goes on on the ground.'

'Isn't that a little unwise if something goes wrong?'

He shrugged. 'Perhaps. But I am prepared for that risk.'

Della smiled back at him, if you can call it a smile: it was more the sort of thing that can turn the blood in a full grown man to ice. 'But you're not the one taking the risks here, Mr Cole. Are you always so cavalier in your handling of the people whose aid you enlist? I am aware that personal survival is of paramount importance to a person in your profession but you must, surely, have some sense of responsibility beyond that.'

No-one said anything. I've never seen Mark rattled before but he was then; at least, as much as he'd let it show - which was probably more than he had meant.

'Of course I-' He face had got a white, pinched look. 'Of course I do. I take it very seriously, all of it. The fact is that too many people of my profession, and the people we've persuaded to help us, have been killed over the years because we trusted the wrong person, because we were betrayed by someone in our own organisation. Most of them are decent sorts but it only takes one. And you can never tell who it is, which is rather the point of a mole. Yes, it is risky not giving all the information but it could be the difference between living and dying.'

'Yes. I'm sorry.'

Della didn't say if she was sorry for him or just sorry, and he didn't ask. Mark nodded and stared at his hands resting on the table-top, and then looked back up and he was smiling again.

'I made a few discreet enquiries around and about to see if anybody knew anything about the crew we ran into down at the docks last night. Unfortunately I drew a blank; I, uh, I don't suppose...' He looked hopeful.

Jack shrugged and shook his head and flicked at his lighter so he could light Della's cigarette. 'Same here, brother. But Johnny here's been going places and we hit the Sandoval warehouse earlier.'

'Oh?'

'They have a great many plates,' Della supplied. 'Not exactly tasteful, but they didn't appear to be illegal.'

'Oh.' Mark looked at me. 'Dare I ask?'

I put my shoulders up at him and let them back down again. 'Only if you want to be disappointed again. I swung by El Corazón.'

Mark's eye glittered. 'Ah. I wish I'd known that - I would have leant a hand.'

'I appreciate that, buddy, but I wasn't there to cause trouble-'

Della coughed slightly. I patted her on the back with a little more force than was polite and her eyes gleamed at me through the smoke.

'I wasn't there to cause trouble, just to have a talk with our friend Vargas.'

'I see. And how did that go?'

Luis rolled up bearing drinks and grinned down at us while we sampled them; they were strong enough to stand you on your head, which is probably one of the reasons why Club Estrellita is such a hot spot. That and the band. Those girls play good music and they're not exactly hard to look at - it's not like you have to steel yourself. But they were nice to look at in the same way a Turner or a Piero is nice; Della was the real deal and she was sitting next to me and I looked at her instead. She was beautifully arranged, the jade holder between her fingers continuing the line of her hand, and her chin raised showing off her profile. She looked like a fashion plate. But she'd got her toes resting against my ankle again and every now and then she'd wriggle them.

Luis rolled away, and I really mean rolled: he had a sailor's gait; Mark put his eyes on me again.

'I said, how did it go?'

'It went fine. I said my piece, Vargas listened, I left.'

'That's my Johnny,' Jack said, 'born story-teller.'

Mark was playing a tune on the side of his glass by beating his fingers against it; it was probably _God Save the King_ or something else suitably stirring. 'Could he have been the chap who sent the welcome party down to the docks last night?'

I thought it over. 'He could, I guess. I didn't ask.'

'Oh?' He looked at me, hard. 'Why not?'

'It didn't sit right.'

'That's what they call intuition,' Della told him, 'it's a detective's best friend.'

'Don't tell Mike that,' I said, 'he thinks it's the office bottle.' She smiled and tapped the ash from the end of the cigarette that she hadn't smoked and took some of her drink, watching me over the rim of the glass.

I sat back in my chair. 'You think that Vargas sent the goon squad down to the docks at the same time that he was, in person, warning Della of a murder investigation?'

'He didn't mention anything about smuggling to me,' Della said.

'It could be a double-blind,' Mark insisted, 'he sets up the shooting-party but then distracts everyone by picking up Mrs Sheridan - it associates him in our minds with one and not the other. He puts himself in the, uh, frame for one crime in order to hide the fact that he's involved in the other.' No-one spoke. 'You have to admit it's a possibility.'

'I guess. Go after both of us but in a way that we'll think he was only responsible for one. He's either smart enough to make it work or dumb enough to think it will.'

Mark was frowning. 'What does that mean?'

'When I figure that out I'll let you know.'

ooOoo

Back at the hotel, well after midnight, and I made a pact with anyone who was listening: I wouldn't go disturbing anyone else that night as long as they didn't disturb me. I was sure that I wouldn't need to do any sheep-counting before drifting off but I didn't want the flock to feel neglected: I managed to count half a sheep when the phone started ringing.

'John.'

'Hn.'

'The telephone is ringing.'

'I know.'

'Aren't you going to answer it?'

'No.'

'It could be important.'

'If it's that important they'll ring back in the morning. Late in the morning. When the sun's up and people are starting to think about lunch. And after some of us have had some sleep.'

'Well, I'm going to answer it.'

The telephone was closest to me; Della decided to take a shortcut and scramble across to it, regardless of the man in the way trying to get some sleep. I tried to get hold of her wrist and missed.

'Touch that receiver and we're getting a divorce.'

I got her elbow in my stomach and I couldn't swear it was an accident - which just goes to show how much say you get in a modern marriage.

Della sprawled across me and grappled with the telephone. 'Hello. What? Who?'

The noise coming from the other end sounded like a mouse throwing a temper tantrum. It squeaked emphatically.

'I'm sorry, I-I don't understand... Slow down...'

The squeak got dialled down some.

'Yes... Yes... You can tell me, we're working together ... Yes... All right ... Yes, I said all right. But what-' I squinted at her and could see her holding the receiver away from her; she looked at it, then replaced it. 'He rang off.'

'Good.'

The lamp flicked on, light searing red through my eyelids. Della's weight shifted off me, then the covers got rolled back and she was on her feet. 'John. John!'

'Hm?'

'That was the boy that you were supposed to meet with Jack. He wants to see us.'

Whoever I'd made that pact with needed his ears cleaning out. I kept my head on the pillow and my eyes closed.

'Well, aren't you going to go and meet him?'

'You go, I'm too busy.'

'You just see if I won't.' She took in a long breath and let it out again. 'John, if you're not up and ready in fifteen minutes I'm going without you.'

I opened one eye and looked at her; she had her hands loose at her sides, her chin lifted, her hair soft and gleaming around her shoulders, and looked like Aphrodite had cut loose from Olympus and meant business. I sighed and hauled myself up. 'Y'know, it's sadistic the way you keep finding jobs for me to do.'

Fifteen minutes later we were dressed and down in the lobby and heading for the car. It was a quiet night in Havana and we sped easily through the streets to find the one in Vedado that our squeaky-voiced friend had specified.

'What exactly did he say?'

'Not all that much. He was speaking fast and he sounded terribly agitated. He said he was in trouble and he needed to see us. Well, see you.'

'Hm.' I slowed while we took a corner and then took evasive action around a chicken whose sleep we had disturbed. It squawked at us and we left it behind in a small cloud of feathers and dust. 'Noticed how we're world famous in Havana all of a sudden?'

Della sighed. 'Yes. We do seem to be the people to call, don't we?'

'Yeah - usually in the middle of the night.'

'Oh, my poor darling,' she said and there was a tremor in her voice.

'You can laugh but I'm ageing rapidly.'

'I think you'd look cute with silver hairs.' She reached across and tickled me behind my ear.

'Plaything, at this rate I'll wake up in the morning and find it's turned snow white.'

She laughed again and stretched out her arms.

'You're supposed to be reading the map.'

'Oh, yes...' She peered at it. 'I, uh... I think it's the next right.'

We swung around the corner and came to a dead-end.

'The _next_ next right, perhaps.'

'Next time you can drive.'

We reversed out, took the next right and found ourselves winding down a long road that was lacking in light. It wasn't the sort of area that you could call homey. I cut the lights and the engine and eased the car to a stop. I would have felt happier if Della had stayed in the car - hell, I would have been happier if she had stayed at the hotel but there we were - but it took me less than a second to work out that she wouldn't stay put even if I asked nicely. We got out and started down the street, looking for the number that Della had been given. Somewhere in the distance there was a dog barking: there's always a dog barking. It one of those sounds that adds just the right lonely sound to a job like the one we were on.

'This looks like it,' I said. We examined what looked like an abandoned shop front.

'Can this really be the place?' Della sounded doubtful and I didn't blame her. Promise or no promise I really should have drugged her and put her on the first plane back home.

'If our latest friend can be trusted - which I doubt - then yes.'

We stood and looked up and down the dark street and then a dark shape peeled away from a wall on the opposite side and a little further up. I took a step forward, putting Della behind me and for once in her life she let me. I squinted into the gloom and recognised the same skinny kid that Jack had met the night before; his wrist were still showing below his cuffs. So were the whites of his eyes.

'Señor Sheridan?'

'Yes.'

He started up a rapid babble of Spanish that I couldn't keep up with; he was still a few feet away.

'Slow down... Kid, slow down, I can't understand-'

The other car came around the corner fast: its light flared and its engine roared and it came on, a great black beast gleaming in the moonlight and its own reflections. The kid stood in the middle of the street, mouth hanging open, and stared at it. I yelled at him to get down but he didn't pay any mind. And then came the gunfire.

I grabbed Della and threw her down and went on top of her; she was curved into a rigid ball and I could feel her back shaking with the force of the breaths she was taking. Bullets bit into the brickwork above our heads, sending down showers of dust and debris and then shards of glass from the broken windows. It was loud, just like it always is; but the loudness always comes as a shock, every time. You brace yourself against the noise just as much as anything else.

It stopped as abruptly as it had begun and the sudden silence was as shocking as the noise preceding it had been. Tyres screeched and the engine roared away, down the street and a whole flock of dogs were barking then, howling their indignation at the sky. I rolled off Della and sat up and looked at the line of holes punched into the wall over our heads, and then at the crumpled figure lying by the road. One thin arm was flung across his face and his body looked broken. Della pushed herself up and walked across, crouching beside him. I followed her. She pulled his arm away and his glassy eyes stared up at me, unblinking, and I thought about David Corwin.

It was obvious and useless but Della still pressed her fingers against his neck.

'He's dead.'

'I know. Come on.'

'They missed us. I don't see- How did they miss us?'

'Because they meant to. Come on.' I pulled at her arm; she stared up at me wildly.

'We can't just leave him here!'

'There's nothing we can do for him.'

In the darkness her face was a pale blur but I could still see the set of her mouth. And her eyes.

'We have to call the police.'

'We will, but there's no phone here and I don't like our chances if those guys decide to come back and start taking pot-shots at us.'

She ran her hand over his face, closing his eyes. Then she stood up and I took off my jacket and placed it over him. I don't know why. It's what people do. I've been told it's out of respect; I think it's just because death is a pretty hard thing for the living to take - and we believe that what we can't see can't hurt us.

We walked back to the car.

'He was just a boy,' Della said quietly. She took her handkerchief out, wiped her hands on it and stained it with his blood.

_TBC_


	18. Chapter 18

**ooOoo**

**18**

**ooOoo**

After the door-buzzer sounded the door itself was opened and it admitted Ruben pushing a large and laden trolley and he was followed closely by Captain Estevez. The policeman looked around the sitting room of our suite with an interest disguised behind the detached appraisal of his profession. He removed his cap, tucked it under his arm, and reached up to smooth his sleek dark hair with a gesture that appeared to be more out of habit than necessity.

'Good-morning, Captain,' I said politely.

He bowed his head in a movement as sharp as his clear eyes. 'Good-mor-' He stopped and looked at me and frowned slightly and then looked away.

I was wearing a dressing-gown that came up high at my throat, long at the wrists, was firmly belted, and showed off a great deal less than the sun-dress I had been wearing when I had first made his acquaintance; but it was a dressing-gown nonetheless and Captain Estevez seemed to be trying very hard to look anywhere but at me. I believe that the good captain disapproved of me heartily.

Ruben was busy setting up the breakfast table and the aroma of fresh coffee and bacon reminded me that I was very hungry. Captain Estevez was watching the proceedings intently.

'Would you care for some breakfast, Captain?'

'Gracias, señora, no; I-I have already had lunch.'

'Oh.'

John looked at me and his eyes appeared to be half-closed. 'You know, plaything, if you'd stayed asleep we would have made it through until tomorrow morning and then everything would have worked out fine. Mrs Sheridan couldn't sleep so I'm up too,' John explained. Captain Estevez nodded wisely and went back to not quite looking at me. Ruben politely separated the captain from his cap, placed that item on a table, then finished arranging the plates and dishes.

'Did you bring some extra cups?'

Ruben grinned at John in response.

'Well, pour yourself a cup and grab a seat. Captain? Coffee?'

The captain started, stared at Ruben and then back at us. 'Who- Who is he?'

'This is Ruben...' I stopped and turned to the young man and felt heartily ashamed. 'I'm sorry, Ruben, I don't your last name.'

Ruben straightened, his chest swelled out and his chin lifted. 'I am Ruben Fernando Morales.'

Captain Estevez tilted his head back. 'You are a porter here?'

'Ruben is a friend,' John said quietly. 'Sit down. Both of you.'

Ruben sat on the arm of a couch, his coffee cup clutched tightly between his hands; the captain rewarded him with another suspicious glance and then took the extra seat that Ruben had placed at our table.

'Would you care for some coffee?'

The pale eyes were turned to me and there was a faint strange tremor around his mouth. 'Thank-you, señora.'

He dispensed with cream but accepted sugar and it was indubitable that when we had completed the ritual of amending the beverage to our respective tastes the purpose of the captain's visit to us would become overt. And so it was.

'I have a few questions about the incident last night.'

'We gave statements,' John said shortly. Captain Estevez inclined his head.

'Yes. But still I have questions.'

'Okay.' John put his cup down and leaned back; he had his back to the window, the light illumining more of the captain's face than his.

'What was his name?' I asked suddenly.

'Señora?'

'I'm sorry. The boy who was killed, I mean: what was his name?'

The captain's head tilted and his eyes were speculative. 'You do not know?'

'No.'

'Santiago Ravera.'

I nodded. 'Thank-you.' I could still see his poor dead face; and I could still feel the sticky warmth of his blood on my fingers.

The captain's cup was placed neatly in its saucer; he sat very erect and he was watchful, his hands were still restless. 'Had you seen Ravera before?'

John shook his head. 'No, I never met him.'

The pale eyes narrowed slightly and the captain responded lightly, 'You have an interesting habit, Señor Sheridan: you answer a slightly different question to the one asked. I ask if you had seen him, you say you had not met him. That is not the same thing.'

John laughed. 'No, it isn't. And your English really is excellent.'

One hand moved, turning palm-upwards, eliciting an answer from the air. 'Well?'

'Well. I may have seen him down by the docks or the marina, but I don't know. I can't say for certain.'

'I see.' His lips twitched. 'And this man you had not met and that you might or might not have seen before, for what did he want to speak with you in that place at that time?'

'Now that's something else I don't know. I never got to speak to him. He was saying something just before he was killed but it was in Spanish and he was speaking very fast - I couldn't understand him.'

The sleek dark head nodded. 'And when did you make the arrangement to meet him?'

'It wasn't anything that formal,' John said. 'He called us. In the middle of the night.' That was still a sore point.

'How did he know where to find you?'

'I don't know. I would have liked to have asked him that myself, but I never got to ask him anything at all.'

Long slim fingers drummed against the table-top, then the captain picked up his cup again. 'It seems very strange: two people, wealthy Americans, to go out so late at night to a-a bad neighbourhood in a strange city to meet someone they did not know.'

'He sounded terribly upset on the telephone,' I said. 'I took the call, Captain; it was I who insisted that we go.'

His eyebrows raised. 'You?'

Whatever opinion he may have had of me before, at that it was far lower.

'Yes. He wanted to speak with my husband. He was rather incoherent and he did not say what it was about, just that it was very important. He gave me that address and he rang off before I could ask him anything else. And then he was killed in front of us; he was gunned down in the street and left to die like-like a dog.' John covered my hand with his, just for moment but it was enough. I continued levelly: 'He sounded scared. He was probably scared of someone and clearly with good reason. But I don't know who.'

Ruben's cup rattled softly. I had almost forgotten he was there. He was still perched on the arm of the couch and he was leaning forward, taking it all in with such intensity as though he were committing every word and gesture to memory. His eyes swivelled towards me and he smiled apologetically.

'You were both very lucky.'

John grunted. 'I don't think that luck had much to do with it. If they'd wanted us dead we would have been.' We had talked about that, all the way during the drive away from that street with its dirt and its broken windows and its death. 'I'd guess that we'd got too close to something and that was the warning - and the kid was what they used to get the message across. Plus, one dead Cuban in Vedado is probably worth a lot less grief and attention than two dead Americans.'

The captain's pale eyes seem to lose what little colour they had; when he spoke his words were shards of ice. 'I assure you, that all murders are worth attention, the same attention, to me.'

John shook his head. 'I'm sorry. That was stupid - I didn't mean that for you, not the way it sounded. All I meant was that if it were us who had been killed and not Santiago Morales that you'd be under a lot more ... pressure, shall we say, and coming in for a damn sight more annoyance than you would ordinarily.'

There was silence for a moment.

'Sí. I understand,' Captain Estevez replied, with only a hint of a grudge in his tone.

There was another sound from close-by - Ruben clearing his throat. He slid off his arm of the couch. 'I have to go,' he said and he was reluctant.

'Work to do, huh?' John asked.

He nodded. 'Yes. I do not want to go.'

'I can't say that I blame you: given the choice between making beds and hanging out with us...'

Ruben lifted his chin. 'I do not make beds.'

Laughter caught in John's throat and his eyes sparkled. 'I stand corrected. Go on, go and serve a mojito to some millionaire.'

Ruben rolled his eyes and sighed and started for the door. When he was half-way across the floor Captain Estevez spoke sharply in Spanish, something I took to be a warning for Ruben not to repeat anything that he had heard in this room.

Ruben's cheeks flushed and his lips tightened, but it seemed to be more with irritation and contempt than anger; he replied in English and with great dignity, 'I do not repeat any of the business of Señor and Señora Sheridan.' With that he bowed to us, marched himself across the room and left.

Captain Estevez watched his departure and when he turned back to us his face was lined with concentration. 'What do you know about that young man?'

'Ruben?' John was pouring himself more orange juice and he took took mouthful thoughtfully. 'He's a good kid; he works hard; his sister got married recently; and he doesn't much like working here and I can't say as I blame him for that.'

The captain's lips pushed together and his head tilted, birdlike, while he examined my husband. 'Do you always make friends with the staff in hotels?'

John was taken aback, as though this were something that he had not before considered; which, in truth, was probably the case. 'I- I just make friends; it doesn't matter what the person does. Does it?'

There was a pause and Captain Estevez had a strained expression, which I interpreted as his attempting to work out whether John was in earnest or making a joke, and not being able to decide. He shrugged it off. He reached into his inside breast pocket and extracted a cigarette case.

'You permit?'

I nodded. 'By all means.'

'Thank-you.'

It was a long cigarette and black; it's odour was pungent and sweet and not unpleasant.

'I understand also that yesterday you visited Señor Ernesto Vargas.'

'You are well-informed.' John's face was controlled and deceptively placid.

The corners of the captain's lips moved and there was that tick in his jaw again. 'That is my job.'

'Yeah, I guess it is.'

He inspected the lit end of his cigarette as though he expected to find something there. 'Why did you go to see him?'

'Vargas saw fit to play host to my wife without anyone asking him to; I thought it only right to drop by to say thank-you.'

His head turned sharply. 'You are all right, señora?' He looked as though he expected me to have slithered to the floor bearing horrendous and hitherto unseen injuries. I was surprised by the concern in his face.

'Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Thank-you.'

The pale eyes wandered over me. The cords in his neck stood out. 'What did he want with you?'

I glanced at John and he moved his head a fraction - a barely perceptible nod. I repeated the essence of what had occurred with Vargas. The repetition had robbed the tale of its teeth: now it was merely a story to tell. I told it and the captain listened and smoked his cigarette. And then he asked the question that everyone else had asked:

'Why did he tell you this?'

'I don't know.'

'Is Vargas a suspect in the Sandoval murder?' John asked.

Captain Estevez frowned into the middle-distance and then roused himself. 'No... No, he is not.'

'Perhaps he should be.'

'Yes, perhaps.' He stood suddenly and performed the same sharp bow as when he had arrived. 'I thank-you for your time, señor. Señora'

I reunited him with his cap and he thanked me gravely and requested that I not take the trouble of seeing him out. His pale eyes were as opaque and unreadable as mirrors. When the door closed behind him I returned to the breakfast table and John was scowling at the thin coating of orange juice in the bottom of the pitcher.

'Trouble in mind?'

He looked up at me and his lips curved. 'Always.' He got an arm around my waist and pulled me down until I was sitting in his lap. I put my arms around his neck.

'I like Captain Estevez. He's so terribly serious.'

'Mm. He's a man with ideas.'

I tilted my head back and looked at him. 'Don't you trust him?'

He sighed and his arms tightened around me. 'I don't know. I think so. I'd like to. He seems like he's on the level but then probably so did Jack the Ripper to a lot of people.'

'What a lovely comparison. I don't think Captain Estevez would like it.'

'You're probably right.'

'Of course.' I tickled his ear.

John raised his eyebrows. 'Now who has a big opinion of themselves?'

I laughed and played with the hair at the back of his neck and kissed him. It was pleasant to kiss him. I smoothed my fingers across his forehead. 'If you keep worrying you'll end up with wrinkles.'

'They'll go with my white hair.'

'I still think you'd look cute.' And we kissed again and his fingers twisted deep into my hair.

I was still perching on his knee and his arms were still close around me; the shafts of sunlight crawled lazily across the floor and turned everything it touched to gold.

'Come on, plaything, let's go places.'

We went as far as the stretch of beach opposite the hotel. The wind had picked up and the waves were boiling, white crests smashing against the shore. It was a hot wind and strangely airless. The palm trees bent under the force, their slender bodies submitting but only for the duration. I took off my shoes and crunched the fine dry sand between my toes. We did not walk all that far. We wandered for a while, circumvented a group of young boys who were kicking a ball about, and continued some little way until we found a natural shelter and the wide shade of a group of palm trees and we sat under them.

I stared at the sea and the pale bleached sky with its patina of high white cloud. It all seemed so beautiful and calm and so hard to believe that so much ugliness could exist in this place.

Nowhere is spared evil. It is naïvety of the worst kind to think that simply because a place may have the outer trappings of a paradise that evil cannot exist there. Evil itself began in paradise; and we all live with the consequences of that fall.

John sat beside me, propping himself up with one hand.

'All right. Here we are. Don't you think it's about time you told me what's going on in that corkscrew mind of yours?'

John turned his head and tilted it, his eyes narrowed against the sun and the wind, and he smiled. 'How would you like to throw a party?'

'I wouldn't. -Why?'

'I thought we could invite all the suspects.'

'All the- But they won't come.'

'They will if Estevez is issuing the invitations - and providing the escort.'

'Yes... Yes, I can see how that would be a great help to a hostess.' I imagined Captain Estevez manhandling my Aunts Lucy and Dorothy to an evening soirée; it was an amusing image.

'There's, uh, there's something else I need to ask you to do.'

'Oh?'

John looked at me uncertainly. 'I need you to ask a favour of Captain Estevez.'

'He just left us - why didn't you ask him yourself?'

He hesitated momentarily. 'I think it would be better coming from you.'

I could not help the breath of incredulous laughter. 'I'm not so sure: I don't think that the good captain approves of me.'

John's mouth opened and he gave me a strange, long look that seemed to be almost disbelieving. 'Oh, I think he approves of you just fine.'

'Really?'

The look softened to amusement. 'Trust me.'

I patted a clod of sand into a mound - my own little castle. 'All right - what do I have to ask him to do?'

He told me; I stared at him.

'You- Why on earth- Look, you better start explaining this from the beginning.'

John studied the horizon, his eyes fixed on a point, then he came back to me and started talking. I did not interrupt, I simply listened. When he finished I still did not speak, not immediately. The wind stirred grains of sand off the lop-sided battlements, slowly eating it away.

'Are you certain?'

He leaned back on his elbows and released a breath. 'Not one-hundred-percent, but it's the only way it all makes sense.'

'Yes, I see that. It's horrible.'

'Yes.'

'When do you want me to see Captain Estevez?'

'Today.' John smiled at me. 'Best get this over with.'

'And the party- Do you want that for tonight?'

'Tomorrow, I think. Give the captain time to get them all rounded up and his people in place.'

I knocked down the castle. 'I've seen those films: the ones where the detective gets all the main players together and points out the guilty party. Someone usually tries to shoot their way out.'

He grunted and looked amused again. 'That's only in the movies. Anyway, no-one ever actually hit William Powell.'

'No...' I said slowly. 'But there is a first time for everything.'

John laughed. 'Mrs Sheridan, you're a pessimist.'

'I'm a realist: that is not the same thing.'

'You can have too much reality,' he said.

'Perhaps.' I stood up, brushed the sand off my skirt, stretched out my arms and collected my shoes. John was still reclining elegantly and watched me with interest.

'You going somewhere?'

'I feel like a walk.'

He got himself up, brushed off his hands and stood looking at me with his head tilted back. 'You're turning into one of those hearty females. Next thing you'll be taking up golf.'

I smiled at him. 'I understand that the clubs make excellent murder weapons.'

'Ah - starting your career early, huh? Are you planning on murdering anyone in particular or are you going to take pot-luck?'

'I thought that I would begin with you,' I replied gravely, 'and then work my way up.'

John laughed and put his arm around my shoulders and kissed me; I rested my head against his shoulder and breathed in the clean scent of his aftershave.

'Say, is this walk of yours a private affair or can anyone come?' His breath tickled my ear.

'Anyone can come.' I looked up at him. 'Even you.'

We started back towards the promenade, John holding my arm while we lurched across the soft sand. When we reached the firmer ground of the paving slabs John knelt and solemnly buckled my sandals back around my feet - Prince Charming to a windblown Cinderella. His fingers moved lightly and were warm and strong encircling my ankles. I watched his bowed head and the way the sunlight danced across his hair. He lowered my foot and straightened up; we started to walk slowly.

'Just where are we going anyway?' he asked.

'I thought we could walk along the Malecón.'

'All of it?'

'Yes.'

John stopped and I walked on; after a few paces I heard his voice say, 'Della, that's over four miles.'

I half-turned, brushing away the hair that the sea-breeze had whipped across my face. 'I know. Are you coming?'

_TBC_


	19. Chapter 19

**ooOoo**

**19**

**ooOoo**

It was another warm evening and the air was balmy again. The french windows were open and music from the band playing on the floor below filtered up. The jasmine was doing what it did and the scent mingled with the flowers in vases dotted about the place. We'd persuaded the manager to let us have one of the reception rooms for the night and he'd looked none too happy about it; while talking to him I'd got the impression that even just looking at us gave him a pain - right where it hurt the most. But we were paying guests, so that took some of the sting out of it for him.

Della was flitting about, cool and calm, in a white dress in that style I think they call halter neck. Or something. She rearranged some flowers and stood back, her head on one side, considering the effect. The setting suited her, I can tell you that. But then again, when I find a place where she doesn't look good I'll let you know. She finished tweaking things and glided across to me, making no noise on the carpet when she walked.

'I think that's everything... Shouldn't they be disguised as waiters or something?'

'They' were a few of Captain Estevez's men; they stood around the room in their uniforms and already looked like they were taking everything in even though there was nothing to see yet.

'This isn't really a party, you know,' I told her.

She sighed. 'Yes, I know: it's justice by invitation. But that doesn't mean that things can't look nice.' Her eyes moved past me to the large officer who was standing trying to blend in with a potted-palm. 'Not that I think that there's anything wrong with how you gentlemen look...'

He gave her a tight smile. I took hold of her elbow.

'Stop digging, plaything.'

'Yes.'

'You look beautiful.'

Her cheeks flushed. 'Thank-you.'

There would probably come a day when I would say that to her and her cheeks would stay exactly the same shade as usual; I truly and deeply wished that it wouldn't. One thin curl of her hair had escaped its pin and lay along her neck; she reached up and twisted it around her finger and then pinned it back up. I'd preferred it when it was down - it would have given me an excuse to touch her, I could have pretended I was tidying her up. Della took a deep breath and gave the room a faint frown.

'Are you ready for this?' I asked.

She looked at me and smiled a little. 'Not really; but we may as well proceed anyway.'

'That's my girl.'

'John...' She fiddled with one of my lapels, picking something off it that wasn't actually there. 'You will be careful, won't you?'

'Sweetheart, we'll have a room full of people and an awful lot of them will be policemen.'

'But still...' Her voice was barely a whisper staining the air.

'Look, if someone starts shooting I'll hide behind Mark.'

Her eyes flashed reproachfully but there was also a flash of amusement - and beneath all of that were those measureless grey depths.

'How did a girl like you get to be such a swell girl anyhow? instead of the spoilt brat you could have been?'

'Oh, it happened one night.'

'Huh?'

She laughed and got her fingers around my lapels again. 'The film - _It Happened One Night_. I didn't want to be the sort of girl that Clark Gable would call names.'

'My God, woman - William Powell, Clark Gable... Plaything, you spent too many of your impressionable years at the pictures.'

'That's probably just as well with the way things turned out. Where did you spend yours?'

'Wouldn't you like to know.'

There was a knock at the door and we both looked at it.

'Well, here we go.'

Della sighed. 'Yes.' She looked up at me. 'Good luck.'

I kissed her once, briefly, and crossed to the door. It turned out we were being eased into things: Jack stood grinning at me and burst into the room like his namesake-in-a-box, and Mark sidled in behind him looking wary. His eyes darted around the room, he nodded to Della and said good-evening nicely and then kept his voice low and said to me,

'Are you sure it's a good idea my being here?'

'No.'

He looked startled. I shrugged.

'What do you want me to say? You're involved in this whole scheme and with a bit of luck you'll get all the answers you want; but I don't know exactly how things are going to play out tonight.'

'Oh. Making it up as you go along, are you?'

'Uh-huh. I'm taking a leaf out of your book.'

He grinned at that. 'Ah, yes, well... That approach has usually worked out quite well for me. Seizing the opportunity as it comes along and all that.'

'Well, thank God for that,' I said; I was feeling friendly so I clapped him on the shoulder. 'Drinks are over there - help yourself.'

Jack had already located the juice and was talking to Della. 'It's a while since I squeezed myself into a monkey suit like this,' he was saying, 'I hope you know that I don't do that for just anyone.'

She laughed. 'You wear it very well, and I appreciate the effort.'

There was another knock and this time Della took on the door-opening duties. It was Ruben this time, all spruced up in his best suit and wearing a grin that was probably visible all the way to Miami. Della smiled at him and offered him her hand.

'Señor Morales,' she said gravely, 'please come in.'

The kid looked like he was melting into a puddle of goo right there. Della might never have got her hand back in one piece. We'd barely got Ruben capable of speech again when our next guest arrived. Ward Warren slid into the room and looked as though he were looking for the nearest exit. His eyes darted warily between me and the officer who had escorted him in: a tall, wiry fellow who looked like he'd happily plug you soon as look at you.

'Hello, Warren,' I said pleasantly.

He yelped. 'You stay away from me!' His voice sounded thick and he breathed noisily. He still had a bandage across his nose and he glared at me hatefully out of his two black eyes. They didn't do much for his looks, which hadn't been much to write home about to begin with.

'You wanted an exclusive, didn't you?'

His tongue darted out over his lips. 'Yeah. Why?'

'This is it. If you sit down, keep your mouth shut and don't annoy anyone - namely me - you'll get to write the big scoop.'

He was thinking it over. I tried not to rush him, it looked like it was a painful process. 'This is on the level?'

'On the level. Just as long as you are.'

His face split into a smile. 'Mr Sheridan, you're a stand-up guy; I knew it right off-'

'Skip it, bud. Now sit down and shut up.'

Jack had stayed close to the juice and I went and joined him; he handed me a glass. He looked across at Warren, who was sitting peering at his notebook and stabbing at it with a pencil, and shook his head.

'Who else have you invited to this shindig?'

'What was that phrase - the usual suspects?'

'Brother, you should have served up some popcorn and pink lemonade: this isn't a showdown, it's a three-ring circus. I hope you know what you're doing.'

'So do I.'

He looked at me; I took my drink.

It started to get more interesting with the next arrivals. It was a large group made up of the rest of our suspects, the policemen flanking them and headed-up by Captain Estevez. He'd taken stock of everyone else in the room before he'd even got through the door. The four people standing behind him didn't look too happy: Vargas and his friend Christiane, Ignacio Sandoval and Rosa. Their escorts waited outside the door and we were all closed in there together.

It felt like the eve of battle - scaled way down but there was still that feeling in the pit of my stomach and an awareness of everyone and everything and every sound. Della floated over and greeted them all with the same courtesy and ease as if they were friends stopping by for cocktails back in our home in Manhattan. I'd only ever seen her play hostess once before and that was at Maya's wedding reception - the bride and groom had been occupied elsewhere, so it had been up to Della to field all comers. She had the same quality again greeting our reluctant guests as she'd had then: a sort of deep calmness; being part of the group but above it somehow - not aloof exactly but more ... unattainable. Untouchable. For a moment I wondered if I really had got close to her at all or if she was just letting me think that I had.

I shook it off; if you get a quota for stupid ideas in one lifetime I had already used mine up years ago. Warren was starting to get excitable again; he was halfway out of his chair, and he looked like a man with big plans; I put my hand on his shoulder and shoved him back down again.

Ignacio Sandoval turned his black eyes on me and spoke through his teeth. 'This is an outrage. You send police to bring us here-'

'Just wanted to make sure you got here safely,' I told him.

Rosa was standing behind him but she was staring right past both of us. It was the first time that she and Jack had been in the same room together since this whole thing had started and it must have been hard on both them with all these other people standing around. She was still wearing long sleeves.

Estevez wandered across, a light precise stride. He nodded his head briefly and his eyes were everywhere. Ignacio slipped away and Estevez stood next to me.

'Thank-you for going along with this.'

He kept his back very straight; his cap was wedged tight under his arm. 'The señora made a very persuasive argument - she is a most intelligent woman.'

'She is that.'

His watchful gaze made another circuit of the room. 'This is a most unusual situation. I am not accustomed to civilians doing for me my work.'

'I can imagine. Let alone corrupt Americans.'

He sucked in a breath and turned his face at me. 'You told me that not all Americans are the same - I am trying hard to believe this.'

I felt nine-tenths of a heel. 'And I appreciate it, Captain.'

He jerked his head again and moved on to have a word with my buddy the potted-palm fancier. Everyone else was talking - it almost sounded like a party.

Rosa had managed to escape her brother and aimed herself at Jack. She took some steps, he took some steps and pretty soon they met in the middle. It was a restrained reunion. They just stood and looked at each other and I heard her call him 'carnino', and him call her 'carida', then I took myself off and left them to it. I looked around for Ignacio just in case he decided to start making something of it but Della had got hold of him and was talking pleasantly but determinedly at him; he looked like he was trying to decide on whether or not to be a gentleman but in the end the good manners worked out and he stood there taking it while she kept him dancing.

I moved on.

In a corner on the other side of the room Vargas had got his lady friend installed in a chair and she didn't look like she was having a good time: her pretty face was all screwed up into harsh lines and angles. When she saw me her scowl deepened and she muttered something under her breath in German. I recognised the word and for a moment I was in another country another lifetime ago with a whole world of hell going on. But it was just a word and just a hard, petty woman whose plans for the evening had been disrupted. She'd get over it. Vargas stood by her chair and slid his hand around the back of her neck in that propriatorial gesture that guys like him like so much. He arranged his face into something that passed for a smile and his eyes glittered.

'As you see, I have taken your advice' -he glanced over at Della- 'I remain on my side of the room.'

Della, on the other hand, didn't stay on hers. She floated across, still radiating calm, her head held up high. She bestowed a glance on Christiane, who was still busy scowling.

'Good-evening, Mr Vargas.'

He gave her a bow, just about. 'I am delighted to have been included in your invitation, Señora'

'You need not be - I did not issue the invitations.'

There was a movement around his eyebrows and then his shoulders went up and down. 'Even so, the circumstances for this meeting are more pleasant - as I had hoped.'

I could have taken a swing at him right then but Della had slipped her hand into the crook of my arm and she squeezed it slightly.

'Indeed. I was mistaken there but that is the last time I will mistaken with regards to you.' She smiled at him. 'We're very informal tonight: the drinks table is over there. Please help yourselves.'

She steered me away. 'I thought you were going to have a fit,' she murmured.

'I didn't do anything,' I protested, 'I played that as cool as it gets.'

Her eyes sparkled at me and she squeezed my arm again. I put Della in a chair and looked around the rest of the gang. 'Why don't you all grab a seat - we can get this thing started.'

Not the most elegant opening but I wasn't worried about being elegant.

'I think everyone knows everyone else.'

'Who is this?' Estevez was looking at Mark with suspicion.

Mark got hold of his hand and pumped it and told him brightly, 'Friend of the family. Well, not your family, obviously, but a friend of the family Sheridan. King, Arthur King.'

It takes a very special sort of person to make an introduction like that without a hint of embarrassment. The police captain didn't look like it had made his day; he got his hand back off Mark but kept his eyes on him and looked like he was working his way up to a healthy scowl. Those things were going around. Mark sat down, still grinning like an idiot, and after a moment Estevez took a seat.

Jack and Rosa were still attached. He started to take her to a chair, like the gentleman he can be when he wants to, but Ignacio got in the way.

'Rosa.'

'Can't you lay off her?'

The two men eyeballed each other.

'Rosa is my responsibility, not yours.' Ignacio took hold of her arm and she stiffened; then her shoulders sagged and she went with him. Jack looked after them and his face had got that taut, lean look. He sat down.

'You have us here' -Ignacio tapped a cigarette against his case- 'for what?'

'Oh, not much. Just a little matter of two murders.'

'Two?' Rosa Sandoval went from burrowing into the sofa cushions to sitting bolt upright. 'Who- Who is this other murder?'

'A kid by the name of Santiago Ravera,' I told her, told them all. 'Not someone most people will have heard of and his death hasn't attracted as much attention as your father's death, Miss Sandoval, but he's was still murdered. He's still just as dead.'

She sat back again and I saw her throat work as she swallowed hard. 'Who killed him?'

'I don't know if the person who had him killed and the person who actually pulled the trigger were the same person - you never know, but I doubt it. But whoever actually got him killed also murdered your father.'

'Have you proof of this?' Estevez's voice sounded thin and sharp.

I took a moment before answering him. 'I have a little story I'd like to tell. It isn't a very pretty one, but then no-one yet has ever been able to make up a pretty story about murder. And it all begins with the first victim, Alejandro Sandoval. Plenty of people had motive for killing him and a lot of them are right in this room. A suitor who'd been thrown out; a daughter tired of being pushed around; a business rival who's not exactly an upstanding citizen; maybe even a son who wanted to look out for his sister.'

They all stared at me, all glassy-eyed and very still and no-one said anything.

'Actually, come to think of it, it doesn't start with Sandoval at all. Captain Estevez - there's quite a racket in smuggling going on through Havana, isn't there?'

He shifted, easing himself around his chair but he didn't look easy at all. 'Yes.'

'Mm. Guns, dope, counterfeit money - it's the sort of business a man can get rich doing. And city officials can get rich just by turning a blind eye.'

'If you mean-'

'Oh, I don't mean anything,' I said pleasantly. 'It's just a fact. It's the same all over the world. And there's been one smuggling ring in particular operating out of Havana for some time now; they use a number of small boats to take the goods out, especially up to the Florida Keys and further on to Miami.'

Eyes got turned on Jack; he sat very still and he didn't say anything but he just kept on staring at me.

'I've been told that this racket specialises in counterfeit money. That's not the easiest stuff to forge but if you can get it right it's very lucrative. And there's been a lot of the stuff washing around Miami lately, most of it coming up from Cuba. Now, uh, yesterday Captain Estevez was good enough to do something for me - he loaned me this.'

I took out of my inside pocket a piece of paper and held it up. There wasn't much to see - it was blank and unlined and plain. 'And we're going to try a little experiment... Jack, mind playing assistant, buddy?'

'Sure.' He bit it off.

'Good.' I crossed over to him. 'Close your eyes and hold out your hands.'

'What?'

'The sooner we do this-'

He talked through his teeth. 'I should have had you confined to barracks permanently when I had the chance.'

'Listen, if you pull this off I'll buy you an ice-cream.'

He closed his eyes and held out both hands. I took another piece of paper out of my pocket, but this one was not plain and had a portrait of Alexander Hamilton on it. I gave him both bits of paper to hold.

'Okay, brother, name the greenback.'

There was a long pause.

'I give up. What are they - different notes?'

'Take a look and see.'

Jack opened his eyes, looked down at what he was holding and still stared at them, frowning for a second. Then: 'I'll be damned!'

'Any chance you'll share the big secret? The suspense is killing.'

I took the paper and the bill and handed them to Mark.

'Apart from all the other things a forger needs, they have to have the right kind of paper; even if the note looks right it's no use if it doesn't feel right.'

'Where did you get this?'

'That? I got it off Captain Estevez; he got it out of Alejandro Sandoval's pocket - he had it on him the night he was killed. And there's a warehouse down at the docks filled with crates of the stuff.'

'It's wrapped around some plates,' Della supplied helpfully.

'The crates...' Jack shook his head. 'My God, I've-I've taken some of those things up to Miami myself. I can't believe Alejandro-'

'My father was not a smuggler-' Ignacio stopped and his eyes narrowed to dark slits. 'How do you know what is in the warehouse?'

I didn't feel any embarrassment but tried to show some. 'I, uh, I'm afraid I made a little free with the lock.'

He stood up slowly. 'I will not stay for this. Come, Rosa.'

'Sit down, Señor Sandoval.' Estevez didn't stand, he didn't move - he didn't have to. 'Sit down.'

Ignacio's hands flexed at his sides. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Ruben twitching like he was ready to tackle him to the ground if need be.

'You don't want to leave yet,' I said, 'we haven't got to the good part. And I know that your father wasn't a smuggler. He was an honest businessman, wasn't he?'

'Yes.' It was Rosa who answered, quiet but steady. 'He was always very honest. Ignacio...' He turned his head. 'Ignacio, please.'

He went back to his seat beside her, lowering himself as slowly as he'd got up.

'Now, where were we?'

'Paper,' Della said, 'and plates.'

'Oh yeah, paper... That's probably why Alejandro wanted to see you that night.'

Jack looked wild. 'But I didn't know anything about it!'

'Maybe he knew that. Maybe that's why he wanted to meet you in secret instead of having it out in public.' I let them chew it over a moment. 'You know, that's been one of the things about this case from the start: it all looked so obvious. And you have to admit, buddy, you made a pretty good suspect. The eager suitor thrown out of the family home.'

'Gee, thanks. Will you quit clowning?'

I found myself a cigarette and lit it. 'A straightforward revenge killing - very neat. And the manner of death, the strangulation, that also looks like a very personal crime. In some ways it was but in the end I think it just came down to sheer greed.'

'This is all most entertaining, señor.' Vargas held his cigarette loosely between his fingers; one arm ran along the back of the couch. 'You talk a great deal but you do not say anything. What is the point of this?'

I showed him some teeth. 'You're right on cue. I had a question for you the other day: if there was a telephone call for you from Los Cipreses telling you that my wife was there.'

His head nodded, barely a quarter inch in each direction. 'Sí. And I told you it was so.'

I looked at Rosa and her body was rigid.

'No... No, I did not.' She looked at Della. 'I did not! I told no-one you were there! And I would not _him_.' Her eyes flashed, scornful; and I thought that Jack may have been on to something when he said that she could be something.

'John...' Jack's voice was a low warning; I motioned him to settle.

'Miss Sandoval, I don't think you called anybody. But I do think that you were overheard. You weren't alone in the house, were you?'

She sat so still you would have thought she'd seen the Medusa and been turned to stone. But the hollow at her throat fluttered and her hands in her lap were balled tight. 'I-I-'

'There were servants, yes?'

'Yes-'

'And you were overheard. Or someone was listening in to your calls. There was another question I should have asked you, Señor Vargas, but didn't-' I glanced at Della. 'I told you I'm not a detective.' She rolled her eyes at me.

Vargas was still busy pulling his unconcerned act but the lines along his shoulders were too set. 'What question?'

'The telephone call from Los Cipreses was to El Corazón. But was the call for you, or for someone who was with you?'

His lips pressed together into a hard line; his fingers dug into the padding on the couch.

'There have already been two people killed, Vargas, do you really think it will stop there? And I'm pretty sure you'd be fixed with a rap on conspiracy to murder.'

His eyes slipped sideways and he shrugged. 'I'm sorry, my friend-'

'Hijo de tu puta madre!'

Rosa stared at her brother like he was someone she'd never seen before; I didn't blame her; his face was so twisted he looked like someone else. His black eyes burned with hatred as cold as a dead love affair.

'You were in the smuggling racket. You were using your father's business - a legitimate business - to ship the stuff up to the States. And when Alejandro found out about it, you killed him. What happened? Was he going to turn you in? Or was he just going to make you stop? You don't like it when you don't get you want, do you?'

Horror and disbelief were the obvious things in Rosa Sandoval's face, but they were only superficial and there was more behind them: realisation and an awful kind of understanding that she didn't want.

I carried on. 'Santiago Ravera, he was going to blow the whole thing. You tried to have him killed when he went to meet Jack - and I guess if Jack had been killed at the same time that would have been fine with you. That didn't work out, but you managed to get him when he tried to talk to me.'

'It is not true. Ignacio. It is not!' Rosa was on her feet and putting distance between her and him.

'Rosa, come here.'

'No-'

'Rosa!'

I only saw two things clearly then: I saw that Ignacio was up and he had a gun in his hand, the twin of the one Della had taken off Rosa; and I saw Della's face. I saw that clearer than anything. No-one else had moved but her and she was standing, her arms around Rosa, shielding the girl from her brother and his gun. Her face was pale but every line was strong and firm and beautiful and her grey eyes didn't move off him. They were very clear and very hard. I wondered about the guy who was still doing all the talking before realising it was me.

'It must have seemed like it was working out great, especially when Jack was arrested. Out of Rosa's life and it would just be you and her, that's the way you wanted it, isn't it? -Jack, for God's sake stay back!'

Jack froze, still half-crouched. It was killing him not to go any further. Ignacio's finger was twitching on the trigger and his lips drew back from his teeth.

'Listen to you friend, Señor Maynard. Rosa. Come with me. Now. Rosa!'

The girl still stood in Della's arms and the little I could see of her face was almost as white as the gardenias she had worn. But there was no weakness there.

'No.'

His face worked. 'If I cannot have you, neither will he.'

The big lump of a policeman had been edging around the room all that time and he made his move right then. There was a lunge, a crash as a table overturned and then a gunshot. In that enclosed space it seemed even louder than usual. Over that Christiane started a screaming fit until her boyfriend slapped her across the face.

Blood streamed from the officer's arm, people swarmed everywhere and got in each other's way; and with Rosa cut off from him, Ignacio took a swift exit through the french windows and out over the balcony. I went after him.

It was a short drop down onto the terrace and when I hit the ground Ignacio had already barrelled through a group of people out enjoying the night air. I barrelled straight after him and made no apology.

The gardens around the Nacional are something worth seeing; they're certainly worth a stroll through at any time of day, especially at night and especially if you've got someone soft and sympathetic to go on that stroll with. But they're not so great for chasing some guy through, especially at night. They're too dark, too full of shadows and places to hide.

But Ignacio wasn't interested in hiding, just in running.

I followed the sound of someone lumbering through bushes and tried to hear it over the tearing in my chest. I wasn't getting any younger. But age aside, I was gaining on him; I could see him ahead - a dark shape against the paler sky; I called out to him. He half-turned, his arm raised, there was an orange flash. The sound and the feeling like someone had punched me in the ribs seemed to come together. It was dull at first and then came the burning. It winded me and I staggered; but I was too surprised by it to really feel it - and it had got me too mad. I went on.

It had been enough time for him to get some way ahead of me but when I came up to him there weren't many places he could go. He'd got himself between the edge of the cliff and the boundary wall - a big smooth stone thing that a spider might have been able to climb, provided it had some help. He stood and looked at it and then looked over the edge, down to the rocks and the sea.

'Trying to guess the distance?'

I could feel something warm and sticky oozing down across my side. He turned and his arm came up again; I dived for cover and chewed dirt.

'You're a pretty lousy shot.'

'And you are very arrogant.' He was breathing hard; his voice shook. 'I am the one with the gun.'

'That hasn't done you much good so far.' I was still crouched on the ground; the idea of standing up suddenly seemed very, very hard. I felt tired and cold. 'No matter what you do now, Rosa's free of you. You probably won't see her again. You know that.'

Voices carried on the air: shouts and the sound of a body of people running across earth and grass.

'They're coming. I wouldn't try shooting at them - they'll just shoot back.'

He stood very still, just a slim dark shape against a backdrop of low cloud and a handful of dull stars. 'I love her.'

Laughter that didn't sound like me but it was mine. 'Yeah. You've just got a funny way of showing it.'

The sounds were coming closer; back, through the trees, figures were starting to emerge from the shadows.

There were two shots, close together. The first was deliberate, under his chin and clear through the top of his head, the second just a reflex. Ignacio's head snapped back, hanging on by a rag. Then he crumpled slowly.

There were footsteps, running, and a vision in white crossed the dark grass. Della stopped next to me, stared down. 'Oh, my God...' The gun she'd been carrying - Rosa's gun - dropped with a soft thud.

_TBC_


	20. Chapter 20

**ooOoo**

**20**

**ooOoo**

'I would see it sometimes in his face when he looked at me, just for a moment and then it would be gone, and I'd think that I had imagined it, that I was the one who was crazy.' Rosa shuddered involuntarily. 'I still cannot quite believe... How did you know?'

John paused for a moment. 'Oh... Something. The way he looked at you. It's not supposed to be like that.'

'Do you have a sister?'

'Yes, Lizzy - my little sister.'

Lizzy, I knew, was married with two children of her own but to John she would always be the little sister, someone of whom he would always take care and protect. And that, most certainly, is how it is supposed to be.

'Did you not suspect that Ignacio had killed your father?' I asked softly.

'Suspect... No. I do not think. I knew that there was something wrong but-' She shook her head sharply and then shrugged. 'Perhaps I did not want to know.'

Rosa sat beside Jack on the couch and she seemed like a different person. The shadows behind her eyes were not entirely vanquished but the effect of their lessening was remarkable.

'It's strange,' she continued, 'but now I can remember how it used to be. How happy we all once were; and Ignacio ... Ignacio was good to me. I know he did terrible things, but I want to remember what came before that.'

'What will you do now?'

'My father's business. I am the only one left to look after it now; and there is much that I need to learn.' She smiled wryly. 'It was never my concern before, I was not supposed to think of such things, but now it is different. In my father's memory I will run it honestly - as you have done with your business. I... I would like to talk with you about it: your expertise and advice.'

'Oh, I don't know about expertise, but advice' -I smiled at her- 'advice I can give.'

She bowed her dark head slightly. 'Thank-you.'

'But before that we're weighing anchor for a while,' Jack said firmly; for a moment he twined his fingers through hers. She leaned into him and her lovely eyes glowed in the lamplight. 'We're doing a bit of island hopping. Peace, quiet, a little fishing-'

'-And a supply of rum,' Rosa added. He grinned at her.

'A box of cigars, a bottle of rum and you beside me singing on the deck.'

Rosa laughed. It was, I realised, the first I had heard her laugh and it was a happy sound.

'Nothing like messing around in boats,' Mark added. He had been sitting very quietly in his chair; it was surprising, that unassuming air in one who so frequently was very obvious in his presence. 'Well, here's to a happy voyage.'

We raised our glasses. John retrieved his from the table; he was moving a little stiffly but he smiled as he joined the toast.

'Just make sure you keep an eye on him and his compass reading,' John said to Rosa. 'His sense of direction isn't exactly acute: he'll have you somewhere in the North Atlantic if you're not careful.'

Jack was regarding him with indulgence, sitting back at his ease with his arm snaked around Rosa's shoulders. 'My sense of direction? Do the words "beach" and "landmine" mean anything to you?'

'Okay, okay...'

Mark drained a good portion of his drink and set the glass back down. 'I say, did anyone see that chap Warren's piece in the _Post_?'

'Yeah.' John scratched his chin vaguely. 'It actually wasn't bad: he even managed to get some facts into it.'

'There has to be a first time for everything,' Jack said. 'He had a few nice things to say about you, too. Maybe that was by way of thanks for you rearranging his nose for him.'

John smiled easily and leaned back against the cushions. 'It was an improvement on what was there before.'

'Your friend Vargas didn't get much of a mention,' Mark stated.

'What do you expect? From what I heard he's told everything he knows about Ignacio's business affairs - not that it was anything to do with him, of course, he just happens to know a lot about it,' John added with uncharacteristic sarcasm. 'He's got himself immunity from prosecution or something; Estevez isn't too happy about that. I think he'd sooner have locked Vargas up and thrown away the key.' He shrugged and winced almost imperceptibly. 'I'm with him on that one.'

There was a large bouquet on the table behind us: bright blooms against dark leaves, delicately scented. It had arrived for me that morning with the compliments of the good captain. We had seen little of Captain Estevez over the last two days, his time taken up, no doubt, with closing the file on recent events. It had been a seemingly unending series of questions and not nearly as many answers to go with them. But with Vargas cooperating as far as his sense of self-preservation would allow and Rosa - still shell-shocked but holding firm - allowing the police unfettered access to her brother's business papers, the circle of accomplices and hired-hands that Ignacio Sandoval had acquired had collapsed. John had spent some time at the old fort that housed police headquarters and had identified the large, unpleasant youth with a taste for playing with knives who had been down at the docks. He had been, John had told me, far less unpleasant and far more pathetic when locked into one of Captain Estevez's interrogation rooms.

In the midst of all that I had spared a thought for Santiago Ravera. As yet no-one had claimed responsibility directly for that young man left in the dust; but whether or not it had actually been Ignacio wielding the gun that night, I suspected that the blame would rest with him.

'Well...' Mark finished his drink. 'This has been jolly and all that but I, uh, have to see a chap about- Do you know, I'm not entirely sure? But I do have to see a chap.'

'We'll walk down with you,' Jack said and he and Rosa both stood. 'By the way - what's with the cases? I thought you two were staying on for a while longer.'

'We are,' John said, 'but, uh-'

'We're something of personas non grata around here,' I said.

'Yeah.' John eased himself up. 'The manager of this place had already been giving us the eye but after the other night the atmosphere whenever we show our faces hasn't exactly been warm.'

'It's been distinctly chilly.'

John nodded. 'To say the least. So, we're packing up and joining Ruben down at the Saratoga. Apparently it's the place to be.'

Jack laughed. 'Ah, if Ruben says so...'

Mark offered his hand to John and they shook firmly. 'Near misses notwithstanding, it's been good fun these last few days.'

John regarded him wearily. 'Oh yeah, it's been a blast. And Mark...'

'Yes?'

'Next time you need someone to do you a favour, do me one: ask someone else.'

Mark smiled and looked delighted.

They left us, Rosa between the two men with her arm through Jack's. John closed the door behind them.

'And that's that.'

'Yes.'

'Alone at last.' He turned and discomfort, quickly hidden, rippled across his face.

'You should have the dressing changed.' I walked through, across the bedroom and into the bathroom. There were a few moments and then John followed. His face was reflected in the mirror and he watched me cautiously.

'Take off your shirt.'

He aimed a smile at me. 'Baby, I have fantasies where you use those exact words.'

I made no response. The wound was not deep - the bullet had grazed the fleshy part beside the ribs - but it was still oozing slightly; when I peeled away the dressing it was stained with red. The skin was swollen around the thin black thread of the stitches.

'Next time I'll have to remember to get all the suspects searched at the door before they're let in.' Silence; then: 'Sort of balances the other side now.' He looked at the fine network of scars scored across his ribs opposite where I was working.

The smell of iodine was pungent, that metallic, clinical smell I had always hated. I applied it and John caught his breath.

'I'm sorry. I know it stings.'

He grunted. 'Nah. It's fine. It's just a scratch, anyhow, nothing to worry about.'

'Oh no, of course not. I'd forgotten how tough you are, the chain-mail detective; you're bulletproof.'

I slapped the dressing into position, more by luck than skill. My vision was strangely blurred and my throat was thick. I walked into the bedroom. The windows were wide open; I stood by them and tried to take in some air. It should have been a beautiful night with the starlight and the warm breeze scented with jasmine and gardenia.

'Would you mind telling me what just happened?'

John stood in the doorway, his shirt pulled on but still hanging open. He frowned.

'You! You just happened.' I said it savagely and I felt savage. 'My God! You go charging about, you nearly get yourself killed- A room full of police officers but oh no, you have to go after that lunatic yourself. What the hell were you thinking?'

He stood quietly and very still and after silence had hung in the air for a few seconds he said. 'It's what I do, Della. I'm not a lawyer or an accountant or a milkman, I'm- I am a detective. And you knew that when you married me.'

'I know! I know. I just-' The tightness in my throat had turned to a raw lump. 'I just hate seeing you hurt. I'm sorry. I know I'm not behaving very well.'

'Hey, come on...' He crossed to me and put his arms around me and held me. It felt so safe there, wrapped in his warmth.

'You smell of iodine.'

'Yeah, well, whose fault is that?'

'Yours.' I sounded soggy.

His laughter breathed softly against my hair. 'Okay. I'll take what's coming to me.'

I raised my head off his shoulder and looked at him; that stubborn comma of hair had fallen across his forehead again. 'This is how it's going to be, isn't it? You taking your life into your hands and me being terrified.'

His hands stroked my hair and then fingers brushed across my face. 'You gave me a few scares yourself.' John paused. 'It goes both ways, you know, what you said the other day: trust, respect. You want those things and you have every right to them. But so do I.'

I took in a steadying breath and released it and met his eyes. His beautiful eyes. 'I know that too. And I think it's a rotten trick to use my own words against me.' I made a show of trying to extricate myself from him but it was show only; I was going nowhere; and John's hold on me tightened. His mouth twitched.

'A man has to work with what he's got.'

'You're a dirty fighter,' I informed him.

'I know,' he admitted. 'I'm a louse.'

'A rat.'

'I'm a rat.'

'A double-crossing, low-down, no-good rat.'

His lips twitched again, their curve deepening and I felt his breath against my mouth. 'But that's why you love me.'

I slid my hands along his shoulders, linking them at the back of his neck. 'There are many reasons why I love you but that is not one of them.'

He kissed me. Softly at first and then deeper. It was so easy to lose myself in him. It felt like my bones were melting, a feeling like rich, sticky molasses slowly sinking through my body. And his lips still tasted of the Scotch we had been drinking: bitter and smoky and sweet.

'John... I know it's what you are, what you do; but that night I-I realised how easily I could lose you. I don't think that I had quite understood that before.'

He took my chin in his hand and tilted my head back. 'I don't shake loose that easy.'

'Good.' I thought about something else he had said. 'A milkman?'

John looked at me warningly. 'Hey, don't knock milkmen. I wanted to be one when I was a kid.'

'Hm. I don't think that the cap would do anything for you.'

'You're crazy - the cap's the best part.'

And he kissed me again. Then he took my face between his hands and looked at me earnestly. 'I'm sorry, sweetheart. You made a pretty bad bet.'

'No, I didn't. I read the poem.' I ran my fingers along his cheek. 'I love Yeats.'

He sighed. 'It seemed to fit. My dreams are about all I've got to give you.'

It is a rare man who will offer a woman such a treasure; a rarer man still who does not realise the value of his offer. 'You can have my dreams if I can have yours.'

His smile was lazy and a little crooked. 'That sounds like a fair exchange, plaything.'

I tasted him, breathed him in again. And he had manoeuvred us both expertly. Something solid caught me at the back of my legs and I sat and then was pushed further down and then- And then John sucked in his breath sharply.

'Oh, darling-'

'It's okay-'

'But your poor ribs-'

'It's fine.' He caught hold of my hands and his eyes blazed with amusement; there was a tremor in his voice. 'Just as long as you're gentle with me.'

I laughed - far more than that joke actually warranted. 'You clown.'

His fingers were busy with the buttons and zip on my dress and he pulled me back beside him; and I gave in to him and the warm air and its night scent.

**_The End_**

_Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,_

_Enwrought with gold and silver light,_

_The blue and the dim and the dark cloths_

_Of night and light and the half-light,_

_I would spread the cloths of heaven under your feet:_

_But I, being poor, have only my dreams;_

_I have spread my dreams under your feet;_

_Tread softly because you tread on my dreams._

-W.B. Yeats


End file.
